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Days, 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 


BY 


F.  HOPKINSON   SMITH 


BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

«?»,  Cambrib0e 
MDCCCXCVII 


Copyright,  1895, 
BY  F.  HOPKINSON  SMITH. 

All  rights  reserved. 


TENTH   THOUSAND. 


Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 
The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 

"V  ^HERE  are  gentlemen  vagabonds  and  vag- 

•*•        abend  gentlemen.     Here  and  there  one 

finds  a  vagabond  pure  and  simple,  and  once  in 

a  lifetime  one  meets  a  gentleman  simple  and 

pure. 

Without  premeditated  intent  or  mental  bias, 
I  have  unconsciously  to  myself  selected  some  one 
of  these  several  types,  —  entangling  them  in  the 
threads  of  the  stories  between  these  covers. 

Each  of  my  readers  can  group  them  to  suit 
his  own  experience. 

F.  H.  S. 
NEW  YORK,  150  E.  34111  ST. 


2O61SS7 


CONTENTS 

PACK 

A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND  r 

A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR      .  36 

JOHN  SANDERS,  LABORER        ....  67 

EAADER 82 

THE  LADY  OF  LUCERNE 102 

JONATHAN 126 

ALONG  THE  BRONX 141 

ANOTHER  DOG 147 

BROCKWAY'S  HULK 160 


A   GENTLEMAN   VAGABOND 


I  FOUND  the  major  standing  in 
front  of  Delmonico's,  interviewing 
a  large,  bare-headed  personage  in  brown 
cloth  spotted  with  brass  buttons.  The 
major  was  in  search  of  his  very  particu- 
lar friend,  Mr.  John  Hardy  of  Madison 
Square,  and  the  personage  in  brown  and 
brass  was  rather  languidly  indicating,  by 
a  limp  and  indecisive  forefinger,  a  route 
through  a  section  of  the  city  which,  cor- 
rectly followed,  would  have  landed  the 
major  in  the  East  River. 

I  knew  him  by  the  peculiar  slant  of  his 
slouch  hat,  the  rosy  glow  of  his  face, 
and  the  way  in  which  his  trousers  clung 
to  the  curves  of  his  well-developed  legs, 
and  ended  in  a  sprawl  that  half  covered 
his  shoes.  I  recognized,  too,  a  carpet- 
bag, a  ninety-nine-cent  affair,  an  "occa- 
sion," with  galvanized  iron  clasps  and 
paper-leather  sides, — the  kind  opened 
with  your  thumb. 

The  major  —  or,  to  be  more  definite, 


A  GENTLEMAN   VAGABOND 

Major  Tom  Slocomb  of  Pocomoke  —  was 
from  one  of  the  lower  counties  of  the 
Chesapeake.  He  was  supposed  to  own, 
as  a  gift  from  his  dead  wife,  all  that  re- 
mained unmortgaged  of  a  vast  colonial 
estate  on  Crab  Island  in  the  bay,  con- 
sisting of  several  thousand  acres  of  land 
and  water,  —  mostly  water,  —  a  manor 
house,  once  painted  white,  and  a  num- 
ber of  outbuildings  in  various  stages  of 
dilapidation  and  decay. 

In  his  early  penniless  life  he  had  mi- 
grated from  his  more  northern  native 
State,  settled  in  the  county,  and,  shortly 
after  his  arrival,  had  married  the  relict  of 
the  late  lamented  Major  John  Talbot  of 
Pocomoke.  This  had  been  greatly  to  the 
surprise  of  many  eminent  Pocomokians, 
who  boasted  of  the  purity  and  antiquity 
of  the  Talbot  blood,  and  who  could  not 
look  on  in  silence,  and  see  it  degraded 
and  diluted  by  an  alliance  with  a  "  harf 
strainer  or  worse."  As  one  possible 
Talbot  heir  put  it,  "a  picayune,  low- 
down  corncracker,  suh,  without  blood  or 
breedin'." 

The  objections  were  well  taken.  So 
far  as  the  ancestry  of  the  Slocomb  family 
was  concerned,  it  was  a  trifle  indefinite. 
It  really  could  not  be  traced  back  farther 
than  the  day  of  the  major's  arrival  at 
Pocomoke,  notwithstanding  the  major's 


A  GENTLEMAN   VAGABOND 

several  claims  that  his  ancestors  came 
over  in  the  Mayflower,  that  his  grand- 
father fought  with  General  Washington, 
and  that  his  own  early  life  had  been  spent 
on  the  James  River.  These  statements, 
to  thoughtful  Pocomokians,  seemed  so 
conflicting  and  improbable,  that  his 
neighbors  and  acquaintances  ascribed 
them  either  to  that  total  disregard  for 
salient  facts  which  characterized  the 
major's  speech,  or  to  the  vagaries  of 
that  rich  and  vivid  imagination  which 
had  made  his  conquest  of  the  widow  so 
easy  and  complete. 

Gradually,  however,  through  the  influ- 
ence of  his  wife,  and  because  of  his  own 
unruffled  good-humor,  the  antipathy  had 
worn  away.  As  years  sped  on,  no  one, 
except  the  proudest  and  loftiest  Pocomo- 
kian,  would  have  cared  to  trace  the  Slo- 
comb  blood  farther  back  than  its  graft 
upon  the  Talbot  tree.  Neither  would  the 
major.  In  fact,  the  brief  honeymoon  of 
five  years  left  so  profound  an  impression 
upon  his  after  life,  that,  to  use  his  own 
words,  his  birth  and  marriage  had  oc- 
curred at  the  identical  moment, —  he  had 
never  lived  until  then. 

There  was  no  question  in  the  minds  of 

his  neighbors  as  to  whether  the  major 

maintained  his  new  social  position  on 

Crab  Island  with  more  than  ordinary  lib 

3 


A   GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

erality.  Like  all  new  vigorous  grafts  on 
an  old  stock,  he  not  only  blossomed  out 
with  extraordinary  richness,  but  sucked 
the  sap  of  the  primeval  family  tree  quite 
dry  in  the  process.  In  fact,  it  was  univer- 
sally admitted  that  could  the  constant 
drain  of  his  hospitality  have  been  brought 
clearly  to  the  attention  of  the  original 
proprietor  of  the  estate,  its  draft-power 
would  have  raised  that  distinguished  mil- 
itary gentleman  out  of  his  grave.  "  My 
dear  friends,"  Major  Slocomb  would  say, 
when,  after  his  wife's  death,  some  new 
extravagance  was  commented  upon,  "  I 
felt  I  owed  the  additional  slight  expendi- 
ture to  the  memory  of  that  queen  among 
women,  suh  —  Major  Talbot's  widow." 

He  had  espoused,  too,  with  all  the  ardor 
of  the  new  settler,  the  several  articles  of 
political  faith  of  his  neighbors,  —  loy- 
alty to  the  State,  belief  in  the  justice  and 
humanity  of  slavery  and  the  omnipo- 
tent rights  of  man, — white,  of  course, — 
and  he  had,  strange  to  say,  fallen  into 
the  peculiar  pronunciation  of  his  South- 
ern friends,  dropping  his  final  ^-'s,  and 
slurring  his  r's,  thus  acquiring  that  soft 
cadence  of  speech  which  makes  their 
dialect  so  delicious. 

As  to  his  title  of  "  Major,"  no  one  in 
or  out  of  the  county  could  tell  where 
it  originated.  He  had  belonged  to  no 


A  GENTLEMAN   VAGABOND 

company  of  militia,  neither  had  he  won 
his  laurels  on  either  side  during  the  war ; 
nor  yet  had  the  shifting  politics  of  his 
State  ever  honored  him  with  a  staff  ap- 
pointment of  like  grade.  When  pressed, 
he  would  tell  you  confidentially  that  he 
had  really  inherited  the  title  from  his 
wife,  whose  first  husband,  as  was  well 
known,  had  earned  and  borne  that  mili- 
tary distinction  ;  adding  tenderly,  that 
she  had  been  so  long  accustomed  to  the 
honor  that  he  had  continued  it  after  her 
death  simply  out  of  respect  to  her  mem- 
ory. 

But  the  major  was  still  interviewing 
Delmonico's  flunky,  oblivious  of  every- 
thing but  the  purpose  in  view,  when  I 
touched  his  shoulder,  and  extended  my 
hand. 

"  God  bless  me  !  Not  you  ?  Well,  by 
gravy !  Here,  now,  colonel,  you  can  tell 
me  where  Jack  Hardy  lives.  I  've  been  for 
half  an  hour  walkin'  round  this  garden 
lookin'  for  him.  I  lost  the  letter  with 
the  number  in  it,  so  I  came  over  here  to 
Delmonico's  —  Jack  dines  here  often,  I 
know,  'cause  he  told  me  so.  I  was  at 
his  quarters  once  myself,  but  't  was  in 
the  night.  I  am  completely  bamboozled. 
Left  home  yesterday  —  brought  up  a 
couple  of  thoroughbred  dogs  that  the 
owner  would  n't  trust  with  anybody 
5 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

but  me,  and  then,  too,  I  wanted  to  see 
Jack." 

I  am  not  a  colonel,  of  course,  but  pro- 
motions are  easy  with  the  major. 

"  Certainly  ;  Jack  lives  right  opposite. 
Give  me  your  bag." 

He  refused,  and  rattled  on,  upbraiding 
me  for  not  coming  down  to  Crab  Island 
last  spring  with  the  "  boys "  when  the 
ducks  were  flying,  punctuating  his  re- 
marks here  and  there  with  his  delight 
at  seeing  me  looking  so  well,  his  joy  at 
being  near  enough  to  Jack  to  shake  the 
dear  fellow  by  the  hand,  and  the  inex- 
pressible ecstasy  of  being  once  more  in 
New  York,  the  centre  of  fashion  and 
wealth,  "  with  mo'  comfo't  to  the  square 
inch  than  any  other  spot  on  this  terres- 
trial ball." 

The  "boys"  referred  to  were  mem- 
bers of  a  certain  "Ducking  Club"  sit- 
uated within  rifle-shot  of  the  major's 
house  on  the  island,  of  which  club  Jack 
Hardy  was  president.  They  all  delighted 
in  the  major's  society,  really  loving  him 
for  many  qualities  known  only  to  his  in- 
timates. 

Hardy,  I  knew,  was  not  at  home. 
This,  however,  never  prevented  his 
colored  servant,  Jefferson,  from  being 
always  ready  at  a  moment's  notice  to 
welcome  the  unexpected  friend.  In 
6 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

another  instant  I  had  rung  Hardy's  bell, 
—  third  on  right,  —  and  Jefferson,  in 
faultless  evening  attire,  was  carrying  the 
major's  "carpet-bag"  to  the  suite  of 
apartments  on  the  third  floor  front. 

Jefferson  needs  a  word  of  comment. 
Although  born  and  bred  a  slave,  he  is 
the  product  of  a  newer  and  higher  civil- 
ization. There  is  hardly  a  trace  of  the 
old  South  left  in  him,  —  hardly  a  mark 
of  the  pit  of  slavery  from  which  he  was 
digged.  His  speech  is  as  faultless  as 
his  dress.  He  is  clean,  close-shaven, 
immaculate,  well-groomed,  silent,  —  re- 
minding me  always  of  a  mahogany- 
colored  Greek  professor,  even  to  his 
eye-glasses.  He  keeps  his  rooms  in 
admirable  order,  and  his  household  ac- 
counts with  absolute  accuracy  ;  never 
spilled  a  drop  of  claret,  mixed  a  warm 
cocktail,  or  served  a  cold  plate  in  his 
life ;  is  devoted  to  Hardy,  and  so  punc- 
tiliously polite  to  his  master's  friends 
and  guests  that  it  is  a  pleasure  to  have 
him  serve  you. 

Strange  to  say,  this  punctilious  polite- 
ness had  never  extended  to  the  major, 
and  since  an  occurrence  connected  with 
this  very  bag,  to  be  related  shortly,  it 
had  ceased  altogether.  Whether  it  was 
that  Jefferson  had  always  seen  through 
the  peculiar  varnish  that  made  bright 
7 


A   GENTLEMAN   VAGABOND 

the  major's  veneer,  or  whether  in  an  un- 
guarded moment,  on  a  previous  visit,  the 
major  gave  way  to  some  such  outburst 
as  he  would  have  inflicted  upon  the 
domestics  of  his  own  establishment,  for- 
getting for  the  time  the  superior  posi- 
tion to  which  Jefferson's  breeding  and 
education  entitled  him,  I  cannot  say, 
but  certain  it  is  that  while  to  all  outward 
appearances  Jefferson  served  the  major 
with  every  indication  of  attention  and 
humility,  I  could  see  under  it  all  a  quiet 
reserve  which  marked  the  line  of  un- 
qualified disapproval.  This  was  evident 
even  in  the  way  he  carried  the  major's 
bag, —  holding  it  out  by  the  straps,  not 
as  became  the  handling  of  a  receptacle 
containing  a  gentleman's  wardrobe,  but 
by  the  neck,  so  to  speak,  —  as  a  dog  to 
be  dropped  in  the  gutter. 

It  was  this  bag,  or  rather  its  contents, 
or  to  be  more  exact  its  lack  of  contents, 
that  dulled  the  fine  edge  of  Jefferson's 
politeness.  He  unpacked  it,  of  course, 
with  the  same  perfunctory  care  that  he 
would  have  bestowed  on  the  contents 
of  a  Bond  Street  Gladstone,  indulging 
in  a  prolonged  chuckle  when  he  found 
no  trace  of  a  most  important  part  of  a 
gentleman's  wardrobe,  —  none  of  any 
pattern.  It  was,  therefore,  with  a  cer- 
tain grim  humor  that,  when  he  showed 
8 


A   GENTLEMAN   VAGABOND 

the  major  to  his  room  the  night  of  his 
arrival,  he  led  gradually  up  to  a  ques- 
tion which  the  unpacking  a  few  hours 
before  had  rendered  inevitable. 

"  Mr.  Hardy's  orders  are  that  I 
should  inform  every  gentleman  when  he 
retires  that  there 's  plenty  of  whiskey 
and  cigars  on  the  sideboard,  and  that " 
—  here  Jefferson  glanced  at  the  bag  — 
"  and  that  if  any  gentleman  came  unpre- 
pared there  was  a  night  shirt  and  a  pair 
of  pajams  in  the  closet." 

"  I  never  wore  one  of  'em  in  my  life, 
Jefferson  ;  but  you  can  put  the  whiskey 
and  the  cigars  on  the  chair  by  my  bed, 
in  case  I  wake  in  the  night." 

When  Jefferson,  in  answer  to  my  in- 
quiries as  to  how  the  major  had  passed 
the  night,  related  this  incident  to  me 
the  following  morning,  I  could  detect,  un- 
der all  his  deference  and  respect  toward 
his  master's  guest,  a  certain  manner 
and  air  plainly  implying  that,  so  far  as 
the  major  and  himself  were  concerned, 
every  other  but  the  most  diplomatic  of 
relations  had  been  suspended. 

The  major,  by  this  time,  was  in  full 
possession  of  my  friend's  home.  The 
only  change  in  his  dress  was  in  the 
appearance  of  his  shoes,  polished  by 
Jefferson  to  a  point  verging  on  patent 
leather,  and  the  adoption  of  a  black 
9 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

alpaca  coat,  which,  although  it  wrinkled 
at  the  seams  with  a  certain  home-made 
air,  still  fitted  his  fat  shoulders  very 
well.  To  this  were  added  a  fresh  shirt 
and  collar,  a  white  tie,  nankeen  vest, 
and  the  same  tight-fitting,  splay-footed 
trousers,  enriched  by  a  crease  of  Jeffer- 
son's own  making. 

As  he  lay  sprawled  out  on  Hardy's 
divan,  with  his  round,  rosy,  clean-shaven 
face,  good-humored  mouth,  and  white 
teeth,  the  whole  enlivened  by  a  pair  of 
twinkling  eyes,  you  forgot  for  the  mo- 
ment that  he  was  not  really  the  sole 
owner  of  the  establishment.  Further 
intercourse  thoroughly  convinced  you  of 
a  similar  lapse  of  memory  on  the  ma- 
jor's part. 

"  My  dear  colonel,  let  me  welcome  you 
to  my  New  York  home !  "  he  exclaimed, 
without  rising  from  the  divan.  "  Draw 
up  a  chair ;  have  a  mouthful  of  mocha  ? 
Jefferson  makes  it  delicious.  Or  shall 
I  call  him  to  broil  another  po'ter-house 
steak  ?  No  ?  Then  let  me  ring  for  some 
cigars,"  and  he  touched  the  bell. 

To  lie  on  a  divan,  reach  out  one  arm, 
and,  with  the  expenditure  of  less  energy 
than  would  open  a  match-box,  to  press  a 
button  summoning  an  attendant  with  all 
the  unlimited  comforts  of  life, — juleps, 
cigars,  coffee,  cocktails,  morning  papers, 
10 


A   GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

fans,  matches  out  of  arm's  reach,  every- 
thing  that  soul  could  covet  and  heart 
long  for ;  to  see  all  these  several  com- 
modities and  luxuries  develop,  take 
shape,  and  materialize  while  he  lay  flat 
on  his  back,  —  this  to  the  major  was 
civilization. 

"  But,  colonel,  befo'  you  sit  down,  fling 
yo'  eye  over  that  garden  in  the  square. 
Nature  in  her  springtime,  suh ! " 

I  agreed  with  the  major,  and  was 
about  to  take  in  the  view  over  the  tree- 
tops,  when  he  tucked  another  cushion 
under  his  head,  elongated  his  left  leg 
until  it  reached  the  window-sill,  thus 
completely  monopolizing  it,  and  contin- 
ued without  drawing  a  breath  :  — 

"And  I  am  so  comfo'table  here.  I 
had  a  po'ter-house  steak  this  mornin'  — 
you  're  sure  you  won't  have  one  ?  "  I 
shook  my  head.  "  A  po'ter-house  steak, 
suh,  that  '11  haunt  my  memory  for  days. 
We,  of  co'se,  have  at  home  every  vari- 
ety of  fish,  plenty  of  soft-shell  crabs,  and 
'casionally  a  canvasback,  when  Hardy  or 
some  of  my  friends  are  lucky  enough  to 
hit  one,  but  no  meat  that  is  wo'th  the 
cookm'.  By  the  bye,  I  've  come  to  take 
Jack  home  with  me ;  the  early  strawber- 
ries are  in  their  prime,  now.  You  will 
join  us,  of  course  ?" 

Before  I  could  reply,  Jefferson  entered 
ii 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

the  room,  laid  a  tray  of  cigars  and  cigai-- 
ettes  with  a  small  silver  alcohol  lamp  at 
my  elbow,  and,  with  a  certain  inquiring 
and,  I  thought,  slightly  surprised  glance 
at  the  major's  sprawling  attitude,  noise- 
lessly withdrew.  The  major  must  have 
caught  the  expression  on  Jefferson's  face, 
for  he  dropped  his  telescope  leg,  and 
straightened  up  his  back,  with  the  sud- 
den awkward  movement  of  a  similarly 
placed  lounger  surprised  by  a  lady  in  a 
hotel  parlor.  The  episode  seemed  to 
knock  the  enthusiasm  out  of  him,  for 
after  a  moment  he  exclaimed  in  rather 
a  subdued  tone  : — 

"  Rather  remarkable  nigger,  this  ser- 
vant of  Jack's.  I  s'pose  it  is  the  influ- 
ence of  yo'  New  York  ways,  but  I  am 
not  accustomed  to  his  kind." 

I  began  to  defend  Jefferson,  but  he 
raised  both  hands  in  protest. 

"Yes,  I  know  —  education  and  thirty 
dollars  a  month.  All  very  fine,  but  give 
me  the  old  house-servants  of  the  South 
—  the  old  Anthonys,  and  Keziahs,  and 
Rachels.  They  never  went  about  rigged 
up  like  a  stick  of  black  sealing-wax  in 
a  suit  of  black  co't-plaster.  They  were 
easy-goin'  and  comfortable.  Yo'  inter- 
est was  their  interest ;  they  bore  yo' 
name,  looked  after  yo'  children,  and 
could  look  after  yo'  house,  too.  Now 

12 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

see  this  nigger  of  Jack's  ;  he 's  better 
dressed  than  I  am,  tips  round  as  solemn 
on  his  toes  as  a  marsh-crane,  and  yet 
I  '11  bet  a  dollar  he  's  as  slick  and  cold- 
hearted  as  a  high-water  clam.  That 's 
what  education  has  done  for  him. 

"  You  never  knew  Anthony,  my  old 
butler  ?  Well,  I  want  to  tell  you,  he  was 
a  servant,  as  was  a  servant.  During 
Mrs.  Slocomb's  life"  —  here  the  major 
assumed  a  reminiscent  air,  pinching  his 
fat  chin  with  his  thumb  and  forefinger 
—  "  we  had,  of  co'se,  a  lot  of  niggers  ; 
but  this  man  Anthony !  By  gravy ! 
when  he  filled  yo'  glass  with  some  of 
the  old  madeira  that  had  rusted  away  in 
my  cellar  for  half  a  century,"  —  here  the 
major  now  slipped  his  thumb  into  the 
armhole  of  his  vest,  — "  it  tasted  like 
the  nectar  of  the  gods,  just  from  the  way 
Anthony  poured  it  out. 

"But  you  ought  to  have  seen  him 
move  round  the  table  when  dinner  was 
over  !  He  'd  draw  himself  up  like  a  drum- 
major,  and  throw  back  the  mahogany 
doors  for  the  ladies  to  retire,  with  an  air 
that  was  captivatin'."  The  major  was 
now  on  his  feet  —  his  reminiscent  mood 
was  one  of  his  best.  "  That 's  been  a 
good  many  years  ago,  colonel,  but  I  can 
see  him  now  just  as  plain  as  if  he  stood 
before  me,  with  his  white  cotton  gloves, 
13 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

white  vest,  and  green  coat  with  brass 
buttons,  standin'  behind  Mrs.  Slocomb's 
chair.  I  can  see  the  old  sidebo'd,  suh, 
covered  with  George  III.  silver,  heir- 
looms of  a  century,"  —  this  with  a  trance- 
like  movement  of  his  hand  across  his 
eyes.  "  I  can  see  the  great  Italian  mar- 
ble mantels  suppo'ted  on  lions'  heads, 
the  inlaid  floor  and  wainscotin'. " — Here 
the  major  sank  upon  the  divan  again, 
shutting  both  eyes  reverently,  as  if  these 
memories  of  the  past  were  a  sort  of  reli- 
gion with  him. 

"And  the  way  those  niggers  loved 
us !  And  the  many  holes  they  helped  us 
out  of.  Sit  down  there,  and  let  me  tell 
you  what  Anthony  did  for  me  once."  I 
obeyed  cheerfully.  "  Some  years  ago  I 
received  a  telegram  from  a  very  inti- 
mate friend  of  mine,  a  distinguished 
Baltimorean,  —  the  Nestor  of  the  Mary- 
land bar,  suh,  —  informin'  me  that  he 
was  on  his  way  South,  and  that  he  would 
make  my  house  his  home  on  the  followin' 
night."  The  major's  eyes  were  still  shut. 
He  had  passed  out  of  his  reverential 
mood,  but  the  effort  to  be  absolutely  ex- 
act demanded  concentration. 

"I  immediately  called  up  Anthony, 
and  told  him  that  Judge  Spofford  of  the 
Supreme  Co't  of  Maryland  would  arrive 
the  next  day,  and  that  I  wanted  the  best 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

dinner  that  could  be  served  in  the 
county,  and  the  best  bottle  of  wine  in 
my  cellar."  The  facts  having  been  cor- 
rectly stated,  the  major  assumed  his  nor- 
mal facial  expression  and  opened  his  eyes. 
"  What  I  'm  tellin'  you  occurred  after 
the  war,  remember,  when  putty  near 
everybody  down  our  way  was  busted. 
Most  of  our  niggers  had  run  away,  —  all 
'cept  our  old  house-servants,  who  never 
forgot  our  family  pride  and  our  noble 
struggle  to  keep  up  appearances.  Well, 
suh,  when  Spofford  arrived  Anthony 
carried  his  bag  to  his  room,  and  when 
dinner  was  announced,  if  it  was  my  own 
table,  I  must  say  that  it  cert'ly  did  fa'rly 
groan  with  the  delicacies  of  the  season. 
After  the  crabs  had  been  taken  off, — 
we  were  alone,  Mrs.  Slocomb  havin' 
gone  to  Baltimo',  —  I  said  to  the  judge : 
'  Yo'  Honor,  I  am  now  about  to  delight 
yo'  palate  with  the  very  best  bottle  of 
old  madeira  that  ever  passed  yo'  lips. 
A  wine  that  will  warm  yo'  heart,  and  un- 
button the  top  button  of  yo'  vest.  It  is 
part  of  a  special  importation  presented 
to  Mrs.  Slocomb's  father  by  the  captain 
of  one  of  his  ships.  —  Anthony,  go  down 
into  the  wine-cellar,  the  inner  cellar, 
Anthony,  and  bring  me  a  bottle  of  that 
old  madeira  of  '37 —  stop,  Anthony; 
make  it  '39.  I  think,  judge,  it  is  a  little 
15 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

dryer.'  Well,  Anthony  bowed,  and  left 
the  room,  and  in  a  few  moments  he 
came  back,  set  a  lighted  candle  on  the 
mantel,  and,  leanin'  over  my  chair,  said 
in  a  loud  whisper  :  '  De  cellar  am  locked, 
suh,  and  I  'm  'feard  Mis'  Slocomb  dun 
tuk  de  key.' 

"  *  Well,  s'pose  she  has/  I  said ;  '  put 
yo'  knee  against  it,  and  fo'ce  the  do'.' 
I  knew  my  man,  suh.  Anthony  never 
moved  a  muscle. 

"Here  the  judge  called  out,  'Why, 
major,  I  could  n't  think  of '  — 

" '  Now,  yo'  Honor,'  said  I,  '  please 
don't  say  a  word.  This  is  my  affair. 
The  lock  is  not  of  the  slightest  conse- 
quence.' 

"In  a  few  minutes  back  comes  An- 
thony, solemn  as  an  owl.  '  Major,'  said 
he,  *  I  done  did  all  I  c'u'd,  an'  dere  ain't 
no  way  'cept  breakin'  down  de  do'. 
Las'  time  I  done  dat,  Mis'  Slocomb 
neber  forgib  me  fer  a  week.' 

"The  judge  jumped  up.  'Major,  I 
won't  have  you  breakin'  yo'  locks  and 
annoyin'  Mrs.  Slocomb.' 

" '  Yo'  Honor,'  I  said, '  please  take  yo' 
seat.  I  'm  d — d  if  you  shan't  taste  that 
wine,  if  I  have  to  blow  out  the  cellar 
walls.' 

" '  I  tell  you,  major,'  replied  the  judge 
in  a  very  emphatic  tone  and  with  some 
16 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

slight  anger  I  thought,  'I  ought  not 
to  drink  yo'  high-flavored  madeira;  my 
doctor  told  me  only  last  week  I  must 
stop  that  kind  of  thing.  If  yo'  servant 
will  go  upstairs  and  get  a  bottle  of 
whiskey  out  of  my  bag,  it's  just  what  I 
ought  to  drink.' 

"  Now  I  want  to  tell  you,  colonel,  that 
at  that  time  I  had  n't  had  a  bottle  of 
any  kind  of  wine  in  my  cellar  for  five 
years."  Here  the  major  closed  one  eye, 
and  laid  his  forefinger  against  his  nose. 

"  '  Of  co'se,  yo'  Honor,'  I  said,  'when 
you  put  it  on  a  matter  of  yo'  health  I 
am  helpless ;  that  paralyzes  my  hospital- 
ity ;  I  have  not  a  word  to  say.  Anthony, 
go  upstairs  and  get  the  bottle.'  And 
we  drank  the  judge's  whiskey  !  Now  see 
the  devotion  and  loyalty  of  that  old 
negro  servant,  see  his  shrewdness  !  Do 
you  think  this  marsh-crane  of  Jack's"  — 

Here  Jefferson  threw  open  the  door, 
ushering  in  half  a  dozen  gentlemen,  and 
among  them  the  rightful  host,  just  re- 
turned after  a  week's  absence,  —  cutting 
off  the  major's  outburst,  and  producing 
another  equally  explosive :  — 

"Why,  Jack!" 

Before   the  two   men  grasp  hands  I 

must,  in  all  justice  to  the  major,  say  that 

he  not  only  had  a  sincere  admiration  for 

Jack's   surroundings,  but  also   for  Jack 

17 


A  GENTLEMAN   VAGABOND 

himself,  and  that  while  he  had  not  the 
slightest  compunction  in  sharing  or,  for 
that  matter,  monopolizing  his  hospital- 
ity, he  would  have  been  equally  gener- 
ous in  return  had  it  been  possible  for 
him  to  revive  the  old  days,  and  to  afford 
a  manage  equally  lavish. 

It  is  needless  for  me  to  make  a  like 
statement  for  Jack.  One  half  the  ma- 
jor's age,  trained  to  practical  business 
life  from  boyhood,  frank,  spontaneous, 
every  inch  a  man,  kindly  natured,  and, 
for  one  so  young,  a  deep  student,  of  men 
as  well  as  of  books,  it  was  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that  not  only  the  major  but 
that  every  one  else  who  knew  him  loved 
him.  The  major  really  interested  him 
enormously.  He  represented  a  type 
which  was  new  to  him,  and  which  it 
delighted  him  to  study.  The  major's 
heartiness,  his  magnificent  disregard  for 
meum  and  tuum,  his  unique  and  pictur- 
esque mendacity,  his  grandiloquent  man- 
ners at  times,  studied,  as  he  knew,  from 
some  example  of  the  old  regime,  whom 
he  either  consciously  or  unconsciously 
imitated,  his  peculiar  devotion  to  the 
memory  of  his  late  wife,  —  all  appealed 
to  Jack's  sense  of  humor,  and  to  his  en- 
joyment of  anything  out  of  the  common. 
Under  all  this  he  saw,  too,  away  down 
in  the  major's  heart,  beneath  these  sev- 
18 


A   GENTLEMAN   VAGABOND 

eral  layers,  a  substratum  of  true  kind- 
ness and  tenderness. 

This  kindness,  I  know,  pleased  Jack 
best  of  all. 

So  when  the  major  sprang  up  in  de- 
light, calling  out,  "  Why,  Jack  ! "  it  was 
with  very  genuine,  although  quite  oppo- 
site individual,  sympathies,  that  the  two 
men  shook  hands.  It  was  beautiful,  too, 
to  see  the  major  welcome  Jack  to  his 
own  apartments,  dragging  up  the  most 
comfortable  chair  in  the  room,  forcing 
him  into  it,  and  tucking  a  cushion  under 
his  head,  or  ringing  up  Jefferson  every 
few  moments  for  some  new  luxury. 
These  he  would  catch  away  from  that 
perfectly  trained  servant's  tray,  serving 
them  himself,  rattling  on  all  the  time 
as  to  how  sorry  he  was  that  he  did  not 
know  the  exact  hour  at  which  Jack 
would  arrive,  that  he  might  have  had 
breakfast  on  the  table  —  how  hot  had  it 
been  on  the  road  —  how  well  he  was 
looking,  etc. 

It  was  specially  interesting,  besides, 
after  the  proper  introductions  had  been 
made,  to  note  the  way  in  which  Jack's 
friends,  inoculated  with  the  contagion 
of  the  major's  mood,  and  carried  away 
by  his  breezy,  buoyant  enthusiasm,  en- 
couraged the  major  to  flow  on,  interject- 
ing little  asides  about  his  horses  and 
19 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

farm  stock,  agreeing  to  a  man  that  the 
two-year  old  colt  —  a  pure  creation  on 
the  moment  of  the  major  —  would  cer- 
tainly beat  the  record  and  make  the 
major's  fortune,  and  inquiring  with 
great  solicitude  whether  the  major  felt 
quite  sure  that  the  addition  to  the 
stables  which  he  contemplated  would  be 
large  enough  to  accommodate  his  stud, 
with  other  similar  inquiries  which,  while 
indefinite  and  tentative,  were,  so  to 
speak,  but  flies  thrown  out  on  the  stream 
of  talk,  —  the  major  rising  continuously, 
seizing  the  bait,  and  rushing  headlong 
over  sunken  rocks  and  through  tangled 
weeds  of  the  improbable  in  a  way  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  a  Munchausen 
of  older  date.  As  for  Jack,  he  let  him 
run  on.  One  plank  in  the  platform  of 
his  hospitality  was  to  give  every  guest 
a  free  rein. 

Before  the  men  separated  for  the  day, 
the  major  had  invited  each  individual 
person  to  make  Crab  Island  his  home 
for  the  balance  of  his  life,  regretting 
that  no  woman  now  graced  his  table 
since  Mrs.  Slocomb's  death,  —  "Major 
Talbot's  widow  —  Major  John  Talbot  of 
Pocomoke,  suh,"  this  impressively  and 
with  sudden  gravity  of  tone,  —  placing 
his  stables,  his  cellar,  and  his  servants 
at  their  disposal,  and  arranging  for 

20 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

everybody  to  meet  everybody  else  the 
following  day  in  Baltimore,  the  major 
starting  that  night,  and  Jack  and  his 
friends  the  next  day.  The  whole  party 
would  then  take  passage  on  board  one  of 
the  Chesapeake  Bay  boats,  arriving  off 
Crab  Island  at  daylight  the  succeeding 
morning. 

This  was  said  with  a  spring  and  joy- 
ousness  of  manner,  and  a  certain  quick- 
ness of  movement,  that  would  surprise 
those  unfamiliar  with  some  of  the  pecul- 
iarities of  Widow  Talbot's  second  hus- 
band. For  with  that  true  spirit  of 
vagabondage  which  saturated  him,  next 
to  the  exquisite  luxury  of  lying  sprawled 
on  a  lounge  with  a  noiseless  servant  at- 
tached to  the  other  end  of  an  electric 
wire,  nothing  delighted  the  major  so 
much  as  an  outing,  and  no  member  of 
any  such  junketing  party,  be  it  said,  was 
more  popular  every  hour  of  the  journey. 
He  could  be  host,  servant,  cook,  cham- 
bermaid, errand-boy,  and  grand  se^gne^lr 
again  in  the  same  hour,  adapting  himself 
to  every  emergency  that  arose.  His 
good -humor  was  perennial,  unceasing, 
one  constant  flow,  and  never  checked. 
He  took  care  of  the  dogs,  unpacked  the 
bags,  laid  out  everybody's  linen,  saw 
that  the  sheets  were  dry,  received  all 
callers  so  that  the  boys  might  sleep  in 
21 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

the  afternoon,  did  all  the  disagreeable 
and  uncomfortable  things  himself,  and 
let  everybody  else  have  all  the  fun.  He 
did  all  this  unconsciously,  graciously, 
and  simply  because  he  could  not  help  it. 
When  the  outing  ended,  you  parted  from 
him  with  all  the  regret  that  you  would 
from  some  chum  of  your  college  days. 
As  for  him,  he  never  wanted  it  to  end. 
There  was  no  office,  nor  law  case,  nor 
sick  patient,  nor  ugly  partner,  nor  com- 
plication of  any  kind,  commercial,  social, 
or  professional,  which  could  affect  the 
major.  For  him  life  was  one  prolonged 
drift :  so  long  as  the  last  man  remained 
he  could  stay.  When  he  left,  if  there 
was  enough  in  the  larder  to  last  over,  the 
major  always  made  another  day  of  it. 


ii 

The  major  was  standing  on  the  steam- 
boat  wharf  in  Baltimore,  nervously  con- 
sulting his  watch,  when  Jack  and  I 
stepped  from  a  cab  next  day. 

"  Well,  by  gravy  !  is  this  all  ?  Where 
are  the  other  gentlemen  ? " 

"  They  '11  be  down  in  the  morning, 
major,"  said  Jack.  "  Where  shall  we 
send  this  baggage  ? " 

"  Here,  just  give  it  to  me !  Po'ter, 
po'ter!"  in  a  stentorian  voice.  "Take 
22 


A   GENTLEMAN   VAGABOND 

these  bags  and  guns,  and  put  'em  on 
the  upper  deck  alongside  of  my  luggage. 
Now,  gentlemen,  just  a  sip  of  somethin' 
befo'  they  haul  the  gang-plank,  —  we  've 
six  minutes  yet." 

The  bar  was  across  the  street.  On 
the  way  over,  the  major  confided  to  Jack 
full  information  regarding  the  state- 
rooms, remarking  that  he  had  selected 
the  "  fo'  best  on  the  upper  deck,"  and 
adding  that  he  would  have  paid  for  them 
himself  only  a  friend  had  disappointed 
him. 

It  was  evident  that  the  barkeeper 
knew  his  peculiarities,  for  a  tall,  black 
bottle  with  a  wabbly  cork  —  consisting 
of  a  porcelain  marble  confined  in  a  min- 
iature bird-cage  —  was  passed  to  the 
major  before  he  had  opened  his  mouth. 
When  he  did  open  it  —  the  mouth  — 
there  was  no  audible  protest  as  regards 
the  selection.  When  he  closed  it  again 
the  flow  line  had  fallen  some  three  fin- 
gers. It  is,  however,  fair  to  the  major 
to  say  that  only  one  third  of  this  amount 
was  tucked  away  under  his  own  waist- 
coat. 

The  trip  down  the  bay  was  particu- 
larly enjoyable,  brightened  outside  on 
the  water  by  the  most  brilliant  of  sun- 
sets, the  afternoon  sky  a  glory  of  purple 
and  gold,  and  made  gay  and  delightful 
23 


A   GENTLEMAN   VAGABOND 

inside  the  after-cabin  by  the  charm  of 
the  major's  talk,  —  the  whole  passenger- 
list  entranced  as  he  skipped  from  politics 
and  the  fine  arts  to  literature,  tarrying 
a  moment  in  his  flight  to  discuss  a 
yellow-backed  book  that  had  just  been 
published,  and  coming  to  a  full  stop 
with  the  remark :  — 

"  And  you  have  n't  read  that  book, 
Jack,  —  that  scurrilous  attack  on  the 
industries  of  the  South  ?  My  dear  fel- 
low !  I  'm  astounded  that  a  man  of  yo' 
gifts  should  not —  Here  —  just  do  me 
the  favor  to  look  through  my  baggage  on 
the  upper  deck,  and  bring  me  a  couple 
of  books  lyin'  on  top  of  my  dressin'- 
case." 

"Which  trunk,  major?"  asked  Jack, 
a  slight  smile  playing  around  his  mouth. 

"  Why,  my  sole -leather  trunk,  of 
co'se ;  or  perhaps  that  English  hat-box 
—  no,  stop,  Jack,  come  to  think,  it  is  in 
the  small  valise.  Here,  take  my  keys," 
said  the  major,  straightening  his  back, 
squeezing  his  fat  hand  into  the  pocket 
of  his  skin-tight  trousers,  and  fishing  up 
with  his  fore-finger  a  small  bunch  of 
keys.  "  Right  on  top,  Jack  ;  you  can't 
miss  it." 

"  Is  n't  he  just  too  lovely  for  any- 
thing?" said  Jack  to  me,  when  we 
reached  the  upper  deck,  —  I  had  fol- 
24 


A  GENTLEMAN   VAGABOND 

lowed  him  out.  "  He 's  wearing  now 
the  only  decent  suit  of  clothes  he  owns, 
and  the  rest  of  his  wardrobe  you  could 
stuff  into  a  bandbox.  English  sole- 
leather  trunk  !  Here,  put  your  thumb 
on  that  catch,"  and  he  drew  out  the 
major's  bag,  —  the  one,  of  course,  that 
Jefferson  unpacked,  with  the  galvanized- 
iron  clasps  and  paper-leather  sides. 

The  bag  seemed  more  rotund,  and 
heavier,  and  more  important  looking 
than  when  I  handled  it  that  afternoon  in 
front  of  Delmonico's,  presenting  a  well- 
fed,  even  a  bloated,  appearance.  The 
clasps,  too,  appeared  to  have  all  they 
could  do  to  keep  its  mouth  shut,  while 
the  hinges  bulged  in  an  ominous  way. 

I  started  one  clasp,  the  other  gave 
way  with  a  burst,  and  the  next  in- 
stant, to  my  horror,  the  major's  ward- 
robe littered  the  deck.  First  the  books, 
then  a  package  of  tobacco,  then  the 
one  shirt,  porcelain-finished  collars,  and 
the  other  necessaries,  including  a  pair 
of  slippers  and  a  comb.  Next,  three 
bundles  loosely  wrapped,  one  containing 
two  wax  dolls,  the  others  some  small 
toys,  and  a  cheap  Noah's  ark,  and  last 
of  all,  wrapped  up  in  coarse,  yellow 
butcher's  paper,  stained  and  moist,  a 
freshly  cut  porter-house  steak. 

Jack  roared  with  laughter  as  he  re- 
25 


A  GENTLEMAN   VAGABOND 

placed  the  contents.  "  Yes ;  toys  for 
the  little  children  —  he  never  goes  back 
without  something  for  them  if  it  takes 
his  last  dollar  ;  tobacco  for  his  old  cook, 
Rachel ;  not  a  thing  for  himself,  you 
see  — and  this  steak !  Who  do  you  sup- 
pose he  bought  that  for  ? " 

"  Did  you  find  it  ? "  called  out  the 
major,  as  we  reentered  the  cabin. 

"  Yes ;  but  it  was  n't  in  the  English 
trunk,"  said  Jack,  handing  back  the 
keys,  grave  as  a  judge,  not  a  smile  on 
his  face. 

"  Of  co'se  not ;  did  n't  I  tell  you  it 
was  in  the  small  bag  ?  Now,  gentle- 
men, listen ! "  turning  the  leaves. 
"Here  is  a  man  who  has  the  imperti- 
nence to  say  that  our  industries  are  par- 
alyzed. It  is  not  our  industries ;  it  is 
our  people.  Robbed  of  their  patrimony, 
their  fields  laid  waste,  their  estates  con- 
fiscated by  a  system  of  foreclosure 
lackin'  every  vestige  of  decency  and 
co'tesy,  —  Shylocks  wantin'  their  pound 
of  flesh  on  the  very  hour  and  day, — 
why  should  n't  they  be  paralyzed  ? "  He 
laughed  heartily.  "Jack,  you  know 
Colonel  Dorsey  Kent,  don't  you  ?  " 

Jack  did  not,  but  the  owners  of  several 
names  on  the  passenger-list  did,  and 
hitched  their  camp-stools  closer. 

"  Well,  Kent  was  the  only  man  I  ever 
26 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

knew  who  ever  held  out  against  the 
damnable  oligarchy." 

Here  an  old  fellow  in  a  butternut  suit, 
with  a  half-moon  of  white  whiskers  tied 
under  his  chin,  leaned  forward  in  rapt 
attention. 

The  major  braced  himself,  and  con- 
tinued :  "  Kent,  gentlemen,  as  many  of 
you  know,  lived  with  his  maiden  sister 
over  on  Tinker  Neck,  on  the  same  piece 
of  ground  where  he  was  bo'n.  She  had 
a  life  interest  in  the  house  and  property, 
and  it  was  so  nominated  in  the  bond. 
Well,  when  it  got  down  to  hog  and 
hominy,  and  very  little  of  that,  she  told 
Kent  she  was  goin'  to  let  the  place  to 
a  strawberry-planter  from  Philadelphia, 
and  go  to  Baltimo'  to  teach  school. 
She  was  sorry  to  break  up  the  home, 
but  there  was  nothin'  else  to  do.  Well, 
it  hurt  Kent  to  think  she  had  to  leave 
home  and  work  for  her  living,  for  he 
was  a  very  tender-hearted  man. 

"'You  don't  say  so,  Jane,'  said  he, 
'  and  you  raised  here !  Is  n't  that  very 
sudden?'  She  told  him  it  was,  and 
asked  him  what  he  was  going  to  do  for  a 
home  when  the  place  was  rented  ? 

" '  Me,  Jane  ?    I  shan't  do  anythin'.   I 

shall  stay  here.  If  your  money  affairs  are 

so  badly  mixed  up  that  you're  obliged 

to  leave  yo'  home,   I  am  very   deeply 

27 


A   GENTLEMAN   VAGABOND 

grieved,  but  I  am  powerless  to  help.  I 
am  not  responsible  for  the  way  this  war 
ended.  I  was  born  here,  and  here  I  am 
going  to  stay.'  And  he  did.  Nothing 
could  move  him.  She  finally  had  to 
rent  him  with  the  house,  —  he  to  have 
three  meals  a  day,  and  a  room  over  the 
kitchen. 

"  For  two  years  after  that  Kent  was 
so  disgusted  with  life,  and  the  turn  of 
events,  that  he  used  to  lie  out  on  a  raw- 
hide, under  a  big  sycamore  tree  in  front 
of  the  po'ch,  and  get  a  farm  nigger  to 
pull  him  round  into  the  shade  by  the 
tail  of  the  hide,  till  the  grass  was  wore 
as  bare  as  yo'  hand.  Then  he  got  a 
bias-cut  rockin'-chair,  and  rocked  him- 
self round. 

"The  strawberry  man  said,  of  co'se, 
that  he  was  too  lazy  to  live.  But  I  look 
deeper  than  that.  To  me,  gentlemen, 
it  was  a  crushin',  silent  protest  against 
the  money  power  of  our  times.  And 
it  never  broke  his  spirit,  neither.  Why, 
when  the  census  man  came  down  a  year 
befo'  the  colonel's  death,  he  found  him 
sittin*  in  his  rockin'-chair,  bare-headed. 
Without  havin'  the  decency  to  take  off 
his  own  hat,  or  even  ask  Kent's  per- 
mission to  speak  to  him,  the  census  man 
began  askin'  questions,  —  all  kinds,  as 
those  damnable  fellows  do.  Colonel 
28 


A  GENTLEMAN   VAGABOND 

Kent  let  him  ramble  on  for  a  while,  then 
he  brought  him  up  standin'. 

" '  Who  did  you  say  you  were,  suh  ? ' 

" '  The  United  States  census-taker.' 

"'Ah,  a  message  from  the  enemy. 
Take  a  seat  on  the  grass.' 

"  'It's  only  a  matter  of  form,'  said  the 
man. 

" '  So  I  presume,  and  very  bad  form, 
suh,'  looking  at  the  hat  still  on  the  man's 
head.  '  But  go  on.' 

"  '  Well,  what 's  yo'  business  ? '  asked 
the  agent,  taking  out  his  book  and  pen- 
cil. 

"  '  My  business,  suh  ? '  said  the 
colonel,  risin'  from  his  chair,  mad  clear 
through,  — '  I  've  no  business,  suh.  I  am 
a  prisoner  of  war  waitin'  to  be  ex- 
changed !'  and  he  stomped  into  the 
house." 

Here  the  major  burst  into  a  laugh, 
straightened  himself  up  to  his  full 
height,  squeezed  the  keys  back  into  his 
pocket,  and  said  he  must  take  a  look 
into  the  state-rooms  on  the  deck  to  see 
if  they  were  all  ready  for  his  friends  for 
the  night. 

When  I  turned  in  for  the  night,  he 
was  on  deck  again,  still  talking,  his  hearty 
laugh  ringing  out  every  few  moments. 
Only  the  white-whiskered  man  was  left. 
The  other  camp-stools  were  empty. 
29 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 


III 

At  early  dawn  the  steamboat  slowed 
down,  and  a  scow,  manned  by  two  bare- 
footed negroes  with  sweep  oars,  rounded 
to.  In  a  few  moments  the  major,  two 
guns,  two  valises,  Jack,  and  I  were  safely 
landed  on  its  wet  bottom,  the  major's 
bag  with  its  precious  contents  stowed 
between  his  knees. 

To  the  left,  a  mile  or  more  away,  lay 
Crab  Island,  the  landed  estate  of  our 
host,  —  a  delicate,  green  thread  on  the 
horizon  line,  broken  by  two  knots,  one 
evidently  a  large  house  with  chimneys, 
and  the  other  a  clump  of  trees.  The 
larger  knot  proved  to  be  the  manor 
house  that  sheltered  the  belongings  of 
the  major,  with  the  wine-cellars  of  mar- 
velous vintage,  the  table  that  groaned, 
the  folding  mahogany  doors  that  swung 
back  for  bevies  of  beauties,  and  perhaps, 
for  all  I  knew,  the  gray-haired,  ebony 
butler  in  the  green  coat.  The  smaller 
knot,  Jack  said,  screened  from  public 
view  the  little  club-house  belonging  to 
his  friends  and  himself. 

As  the  sun  rose  and  we  neared  the 

shore,  there  came  into  view  on  the  near 

end  of  the  island  the  rickety  outline  of 

a  palsied  old  dock,  clutching  with  one 

30 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

arm  a  group  of  piles  anchored  in  the 
marsh  grass,  and  extending  the  other  as 
if  in  welcome  to  the  slow-moving  scow. 
We  accepted  the  invitation,  threw  a  line 
over  a  thumb  of  a  pile,  and  in  five 
minutes  were  seated  in  a  country  stage. 
Ten  more,  and  we  backed  up  to  an  old- 
fashioned  colonial  porch,  with  sloping 
roof  and  dormer  windows  supported  by 
high  white  columns.  Leaning  over  the 
broken  railing  of  the  porch  was  a  half- 
grown  negro  boy,  hatless  and  bare- 
footed ;  inside  the  door,  looking  furtively 
out,  half  concealing  her  face  with  her 
apron,  stood  an  old  negro  woman,  her 
head  bound  with  a  bandana  kerchief, 
while  peeping  from  behind  an  outbuild- 
ing was  a  group  of  children  in  sun- 
bonnets  and  straw  hats, —  "  the  farmer's 
boys  and  girls,"  the  major  said,  waving 
his  hand,  as  we  drove  up,  his  eyes 
brightening.  Then  there  was  the  usual 
collection  of  farm-yard  fowl,  beside  two 
great  hounds,  who  visited  each  one 
of  us  in  turn,  their  noses  rubbing  our 
knees. 

If  the  major,  now  that  he  was  on  his 
native  heath,  realized  in  his  own  mind 
any  difference  between  the  Eldorado 
which  his  eloquence  had  conjured  up  in 
my  own  mind,  the  morning  before  in 
Jack's  room,  and  the  hard,  cold  facts 


A  GENTLEMAN   VAGABOND 

before  us,  he  gave  no  outward  sign. 
To  all  appearances,  judging  from  his 
perfect  ease  and  good  temper,  the  paint- 
scaled  pillars  were  the  finest  of  Carrara 
marble,  the  bare  floors  were  carpeted 
with  the  softest  fabrics  of  Turkish 
looms,  and  the  big,  sparsely  furnished 
rooms  were  so  many  salons,  where 
princes  trod  in  pride,  and  fair  ladies 
stepped  a  measure. 

The  only  remark  he  made  was  in  an- 
swer to  a  look  of  surprise  on  my  face 
when  I  peered  curiously  into  the  bare 
hall  and  made  a  cursory  mental  inven- 
tory of  its  contents. 

"  Yes,  colonel ;  you  will  find,  I  regret 
to  say,  some  slight  changes  since  the  old 
days.  Then,  too,  my  home  is  in  slight 
confusion  owin'  to  the  spring  cleanin', 
and  a  good  many  things  have  been  put 
away." 

I  looked  to  Jack  for  explanation,  but  if 
that  thoroughbred  knew  where  the  major 
had  permanently  put  the  last  batch  of 
his  furniture,  he,  too,  gave  no  outward 
sign. 

As  for  the  servants,  were  there  not 
old  Rachel  and  Sam,  chef  and  valet  ? 
What  more  could  one  want  ?  The  major's 
voice,  too,  had  lost  none  of  its  persuasive 
powers. 

"  Here,  Sam,  you  black  imp,  carry  yo' 
32 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

Marster  Jack's  gun  and  things  to  my 
room,  and,  Rachel,  take  the  colonel's  bag 
to  the  sea-room,  next  to  the  dinin'-hall. 
Breakfast  in  an  hour,  gentlemen,  as  Mrs. 
Slocomb  used  to  say." 

I  found  only  a  bed  covered  with  a 
quilt,  an  old  table  with  small  drawers, 
a  wash-stand,  two  chairs,  and  a  desk  on 
three  legs.  The  walls  were  bare  except 
for  a  fly-stained  map  yellow  with  age. 
As  I  passed  through  the  sitting-room, 
Rachel  preceding  me  with  my  traps,  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  traces  of  better 
times.  There  was  a  plain  wooden  man- 
telpiece, a  wide  fireplace  with  big  brass 
andirons,  a  sideboard  with  and  without 
brass  handles  and  a  limited  number  of 
claw  feet,  —  which  if  brought  under  the 
spell  of  the  scraper  and  varnish-pot  might 
once  more  regain  its  lost  estate,  —  a 
corner  -  cupboard  built  into  the  wall, 
half  full  of  fragments  of  old  china,  and, 
to  do  justice  to  the  major's  former  state- 
ment, there  was  also  a  pair  of  dull  old 
mahogany  doors  with  glass  knobs  sepa- 
rating the  room  from  some  undiscovered 
unknown  territory  of  bareness  and  emp- 
tiness beyond.  These,  no  doubt,  were 
the  doors  Anthony  threw  open  for  the 
bevies  of  beauties  so  picturesquely  de- 
scribed by  the  major,  but  where  were  the 
Chippendale  furniture,  the  George  III. 
33 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

silver,  the  Italian  marble  mantels  with 
carved  lions'  heads,  the  marquetry  floors 
and  cabinets  ? 

I  determined  to  end  my  mental  sus- 
pense. I  would  ask  Rachel  and  get  at 
the  facts.  The  old  woman  was  opening 
the  windows,  letting  in  the  fresh  breath 
of  a  honeysuckle,  and  framing  a  view  of 
the  sea  beyond. 

"  How  long  have  you  lived  here, 
aunty  ? " 

"'Most  fo'ty  years,  sah.  Long  'fo 
Massa  John  Talbot  died." 

"  Where 's  old  Anthony  ?  "  I  said. 

"What  Anthony?  De  fust  major's 
body-servant  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Go  'long,  honey.  He  's  daid  dese 
twenty  years.  Daid  two  years  'fo' 
Massa  Slocomb  married  Mis'  Talbot." 

"  And  Anthony  never  waited  at  all  on 
Major  Slocomb  ? " 

"  How  could  he  wait  on  him,  honey, 
when  he  daid  'fo'  he  see  him  ? " 

I  pondered  for  a  moment  over  the 
picturesque  quality  of  the  major's  men- 
dacity. 

Was  it,  then,  only  another  of  the 
major's  tributes  to  his  wife, —  this  whole 
story  of  Anthony  and  the  madeira  of 
'39  ?  How  he  must  have  loved  this 
dear  relict  of  his  military  predecessor ! 
34 


A  GENTLEMAN  VAGABOND 

An  hour  later  the  major  strolled  into 
the  sitting  -  room,  his  arm  through 
Jack's. 

"Grand  old  place,  is  it  not  ? "  he  said, 
turning  to  me.  "  Full  of  historic  interest. 
Of  co'se  the  damnable  oligarchy  has 
stripped  us,  but " — 

Here  Aunt  Rachel  flopped  in  —  her 
slippers,  I  mean ;  the  sound  was  dis- 
tinctly audible. 

"Bre'kfus',  major." 

"All  right,  Rachel.  Come,  gentle- 
men!" 

When  we  were  all  seated,  the  major 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  toyed  with  his 
knife  a  moment,  and  said  with  an  air  of 
great  deliberation : — 

"  Gentlemen,  when  I  was  in  New  York 
I  discovered  that  the  fashionable  dish  of 
the  day  was  a  po'ter-house  steak.  So 
when  I  knew  you  were  coming,  I  wired 
my  agent  in  Baltimo'  to  go  to  Lexing- 
ton market  and  to  send  me  down  on  ice 
the  best  steak  he  could  buy  fo'  money.  It 
is  now  befo'  you. 

"Jack,  shall  I  cut  you  a  piece  of  the 
tenderloin  ?  " 

35 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF 
HONOR 

IT  was  in  the  smoking-room  of  a  Cu- 
narder  two  days  out.  The  evening 
had  been  spent  in  telling  stories,  the 
fresh-air  passengers  crowding  the  door- 
ways to  listen,  the  habitual  loungers  and 
card-players  abandoning  their  books  and 
games. 

When  my  turn  came,  —  mine  was  a 
story  of  Venice,  a  story  of  the  old  pal- 
ace of  the  Barbarozzi,  —  I  noticed  in  one 
corner  of  the  room  a  man  seated  alone 
wrapped  in  a  light  shawl,  who  had  lis- 
tened intently  as  he  smoked,  but  who 
took  no  part  in  the  general  talk.  He 
attracted  my  attention  from  his  likeness 
to  my  friend  Vereschagin  the  painter  ; 
his  broad,  white  forehead,  finely  wrought 
features,  clear,  honest,  penetrating  eye, 
flowing  mustache  and  beard  streaked 
with  gray,  —  all  strongly  suggestive  of 
that  distinguished  Russian.  I  love 
Vereschagin,  and  so,  unconsciously,  and 
by  mental  association,  perhaps,  I  was 
drawn  to  this  stranger.  Seeing  my  eye 
36 


A  KNIGHT   OF  THE   LEGION   OF   HONOR 

fixed  constantly  upon  him,  he  threw  off 
his  shawl,  and  crossed  the  room. 

"  Pardon  me,  but  your  story  about  the 
Barbarozzi  brought  to  my  mind  so  many 
delightful  recollections  that  I  cannot 
help  thanking  you.  I  know  that  old 
palace,  —  knew  it  thirty  years  ago,  — 
and  I  know  that  cortile,  and  although  I 
have  not  had  the  good  fortune  to  run 
across  either  your  gondolier,  Espero,  or 
his  sweetheart,  Mariana,  I  have  known  a 
dozen  others  as  romantic  and  delightful. 
The  air  is  stifling  here.  Shall  we  have 
our  coffee  outside  on  the  deck  ? " 

When  we  were  seated,  he  continued, 
"And  so  you  are  going  to  Venice  to 
paint?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  you  ?  " 

"  Me  ?  Oh,  to  the  Engadine  to  rest. 
American  life  is  so  exhausting  that  I 
must  have  these  three  months  of  quiet 
to  make  the  other  nine  possible." 

The  talk  drifted  into  the  many  curi- 
ous adventures  befalling  a  man  in  his 
journeyings  up  and  down  the  world, 
most  of  them  suggested  by  the  queer 
stories  of  the  night.  When  coffee  had 
been  served,  he  lighted  another  cigar, 
held  the  match  until  it  burned  itself  out, 
—  the  yellow  flame  lighting  up  his  hand- 
some face,  —  looked  out  over  the  broad 
expanse  of  tranquil  sea,  with  its  great 
37 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 

highway  of  silver  leading  up  to  the  full 
moon  dominating  the  night,  and  said  as 
if  in  deep  thought  :  — 

"And  so  you  are  going  to  Venice?  " 
Then,  after  a  long  pause :  "  Will  you 
mind  if  I  tell  you  of  an  adventure  of  my 
own,  —  one  still  most  vivid  in  my  mem- 
ory ?  It  happened  near  there  many 
years  ago."  He  picked  up  his  shawl, 
pushed  our  chairs  close  to  the  overhang- 
ing life-boat,  and  continued  :  "  I  had  be- 
gun my  professional  career,  and  had 
gone  abroad  to  study  the  hospital  system 
in  Europe.  The  revolution  in  Poland  — 
the  revolt  of  '62  —  had  made  traveling 
hi  northern  Europe  uncomfortable,  if  not 
dangerous,  for  foreigners,  even  with  the 
most  authentic  of  passports,  and  so  I 
had  spent  the  summer  in  Italy.  One 
morning,  early  in  the  autumn,  I  bade 
good-by  to  my  gondolier  at  the  water- 
steps  of  the  railroad  station,  and  bought 
a  ticket  for  Vienna.  An  important  let- 
ter required  my  immediate  presence  in 
Berlin. 

"On  entering  the  train  I  found  the 
carriage  occupied  by  two  persons  :  a  lady, 
richly  dressed,  but  in  deep  mourning 
and  heavily  veiled  ;  and  a  man,  dark  and 
smooth-faced,  wearing  a  high  silk  hat. 
Raising  my  cap,  I  placed  my  umbrella 
and  smaller  traps  under  the  seat,  and 
38 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION   OF  HONOR 

hung  my  bundle  of  traveling  shawls  in 
the  rack  overhead.  The  lady  returned 
my  salutation  gravely,  lifting  her  veil 
and  making  room  for  my  bundles.  The 
dark  man's  only  response  was  a  formal 
touching  of  his  hat-brim  with  his  forefin- 
ger. 

"The  lady  interested  me  instantly. 
She  was  perhaps  twenty-five  years  of 
age,  graceful,  and  of  distinguished  bear- 
ing. Her  hair  was  jet-black,  brushed 
straight  back  from  her  temples,  her  com- 
plexion a  rich  olive,  her  teeth  pure  white. 
Her  lashes  were  long,  and  opened  and 
shut  with  a  slow,  fan-like  movement, 
shading  a  pair  of  deep  blue  eyes,  which 
shone  with  that  peculiar  light  only  seen 
when  quick  tears  lie  hidden  under  half- 
closed  lids.  Her  figure  was  rounded 
and  full,  and  her  hands  exquisitely 
modeled.  Her  dress,  while  of  the  rich- 
est material,  was  perfectly  plain,  with  a 
broad  white  collar  and  cuffs  like  those  of 
a  nun.  She  wore  no  jewels  of  any  kind. 
I  judged  her  to  be  a  woman  of  some  dis- 
tinction,—  an  Italian  or  Hungarian,  per- 
haps. 

"  When  the  train  started,  the  dark 
man,  who  had  remained  standing, 
touched  his  hat  to  me,  raised  it  to  the 
lady,  and  disappeared.  Her  only  ac- 
knowledgment was  a  slight  inclination  of 
39 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 

the  head.  A  polite  stranger,  no  doubt, 
I  thought,  who  prefers  the  smoker. 
When  the  train  stopped  for  luncheon,  I 
noticed  that  the  lady  did  not  leave  the 
carriage,  and  on  my  return  I  found  her 
still  seated,  looking  listlessly  out  of  the 
window,  her  head  upon  her  hand. 

" '  Pardon  me,  madame,'  I  said  in 
French,  '  but  unless  you  travel  some 
distance  this  is  the  last  station  where 
you  can  get  anything  to  eat.' 

"  She  started,  and  looked  about  help- 
lessly. '  I  am  not  hungry.  I  cannot 
eat  —  but  I  suppose  I  should.' 

" '  Permit  me  ; '  and  I  sprang  from  the 
carriage,  and  caught  a  waiter  with  a 
tray  before  the  guard  reclosed  the  doors. 
She  drank  the  coffee,  tasted  the  fruit, 
thanking  me  in  a  low,  sweet  voice,  and 
said :  — 

"  '  You  are  very  considerate.  It  will 
help  me  to  bear  my  journey.  I  am  very 
tired,  and  weaker  than  I  thought ;  for  I 
have  not  slept  for  many  nights.' 

"  I  expressed  my  sympathy,  and  ended 
by  telling  her  I  hoped  we  could  keep 
the  carriage  to  ourselves ;  she  might 
then  sleep  undisturbed.  She  looked  at 
me  fixedly,  a  curious  startled  expres- 
sion crossing  her  face,  but  made  no 
reply. 

"  Almost  every  man  is  drawn,  I  think, 
40 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE   LEGION   OF   HONOR 

to  a  sad  or  tired  woman.  There  is  a 
look  about  the  eyes  that  makes  an  in- 
stantaneous draft  on  the  sympathies. 
So,  when  these  slight  confidences  of  my 
companion  confirmed  my  misgivings  as 
to  her  own  weariness,  I  at  once  began 
diverting  her  as  best  I  could  with  some 
account  of  my  summer's  experience  in 
Venice,  and  with  such  of  my  plans  for 
the  future  as  at  the  moment  filled  my 
mind.  I  was  younger  then, — perhaps 
only  a  year  or  two  her  senior,  —  and 
you  know  one  is  not  given  to  much 
secrecy  at  twenty-six :  certainly  not 
with  a  gentle  lady  whose  good-will  you 
are  trying  to  gain,  and  whose  sorrowful 
face,  as  I  have  said,  enlists  your  sym- 
pathy at  sight.  Then,  to  establish  some 
sort  of  footing  for  myself,  I  drifted  into 
an  account  of  my  own  home  life  ;  telling 
her  of  my  mother  and  sisters,  of  the 
social  customs  of  our  country,  of  the 
freedom  given  the  women,  —  so  differ- 
ent from  what  I  had  seen  abroad,  —  of 
their  perfect  safety  everywhere. 

"  We  had  been  talking  in  this  vein 
some  time,  she  listening  quietly  until 
something  I  said  reacted  in  a  slight 
curl  of  her  lips,  —  more  incredulous  than 
contemptuous,  perhaps,  but  significant 
all  the  same ;  for,  lifting  her  eyes,  she 
answered  slowly  and  meaningly  :  — 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE   LEGION   OF   HONOR 

" '  It  must  be  a  paradise  for  women. 
I  am  glad  to  believe  that  there  is  one 
corner  of  the  earth  where  they  are 
treated  with  respect.  My  own  experi- 
ences have  been  so  different  that  I  have 
begun  to  believe  that  none  of  us  are 
safe  after  we  leave  our  cradles.'  Then, 
as  if  suddenly  realizing  the  inference, 
the  color  mounting  to  her  cheeks,  she 
added :  '  But  please  do  not  misunder- 
stand me.  I  am  quite  willing  to  accept 
your  statement ;  for  I  never  met  an 
American  before.' 

"As  we  neared  the  foothills  the  air 
grew  colder.  She  instinctively  drew 
her  cloak  the  closer,  settling  herself  in 
one  corner  and  closing  her  eyes  wearily. 
I  offered  my  rug,  insisting  that  she  was 
not  properly  clad  for  a  journey  over  the 
mountains  at  night.  She  refused  gently 
but  firmly,  and  closed  her  eyes  again, 
resting  her  head  against  the  dividing 
cushion.  For  a  moment  I  watched  her ; 
then  arose  from  my  seat,  and,  pulling 
down  my  bundle  of  shawls,  begged  that 
I  might  spread  my  heaviest  rug  over 
her  lap.  An  angry  color  mounted  to 
her  cheeks.  She  turned  upon  me,  and 
was  about  to  refuse  indignantly,  when  I 
interrupted :  — 

" '  Please  allow  me ;  don't  you  know 
you  cannot  sleep  if  you  are  cold  ?  Let 
42 


A  KNIGHT   OF  THE  LEGION  OF   HONOR 

me  put  this  wrap  about  you.  I  have 
two.' 

"With  the  unrolling,  the  leather  tab- 
let of  the  shawl-strap,  bearing  my  name, 
fell  in  her  lap. 

"  '  Your  name  is  Bosk,'  she  said,  with 
a  quick  start,  '  and  you  an  American  ? ' 

"  '  Yes ;  why  not  ? ' 

" '  My  maiden  name  is  Boski,'  she 
replied,  looking  at  me  in  astonishment, 
'and  I  am  a  Pole.' 

"  Here  were  two  mysteries  solved. 
She  was  married,  and  neither  Italian 
nor  Slav. 

"  'And  your  ancestry  ? '  she  continued 
with  increased  animation.  '  Are  you  of 
Polish  blood  ?  You  know  our  name  is 
a  great  name  in  Poland.  Your  grand- 
father, of  course,  was  a  Pole.'  Then, 
with  deep  interest,  'What  are  your  ar- 
morial bearings  ? ' 

"  I  answered  that  I  had  never  heard 
that  my  grandfather  was  a  Pole.  It  was 
quite  possible,  though,  that  we  might  be 
of  Polish  descent,  for  my  father  had 
once  told  me  of  an  ancestor,  an  old  colo- 
nel, who  fell  at  Austerlitz.  As  to  the 
armorial  bearings,  we  Americans  never 
cared  for  such  things.  The  only  thing 
I  could  remember  was  a  certain  seal 
which  my  father  used  to  wear,  and  with 
which  he  sealed  his  letters.  The  tradi- 
43 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 

tion  in  the  family  was  that  it  belonged 
to  this  old  colonel.  My  sister  used  it 
sometimes.  I  had  a  letter  from  her  in 
my  pocket. 

"  She  examined  the  indented  wax  on 
the  envelope,  opened  her  cloak  quickly, 
and  took  from  the  bag  at  her  side  a  seal 
mounted  in  jewels,  bearing  a  crest  and 
coat  of  arms. 

"  '  See  how  slight  the  difference.  The 
quarterings  are  almost  the  same,  and 
the  crest  and  motto  identical.  This 
side  is  mine,  the  other  is  my  husband's. 
How  very,  very  strange !  And  yet  you 
are  an  American  ? ' 

"  '  And  your  husband's  crest  ? '  I 
asked.  '  Is  he  also  a  Pole  ? ' 

" '  Yes ;  I  married  a  Pole,'  with  a 
slight  trace  of  haughtiness,  even  resent- 
ment, at  the  inquiry. 

"'And  his  name,  madame  ?  Chance 
has  given  you  mine  —  a  fair  exchange  is 
never  a  robbery.' 

"She  drew  herself  up,  and  said 
quickly,  and  with  a  certain  bearing  I 
had  not  noticed  before  :  — 

"  'Not  now  ;   it  makes  no  difference.' 

"  Then,  as  if  uncertain  of  the  effect  of 
her  refusal,  and  with  a  willingness  to  be 
gracious,  she  added  :  — 

"  In  a  few  minutes  — at  ten  o'clock  — 
we  reach  Trieste.  The  train  stops 
44 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE   LEGION   OF   HONOR 

twenty  minutes.  You  were  so  kind 
about  my  luncheon  ;  I  am  stronger  now. 
Will  you  dine  with  me  ? ' 

"I  thanked  her,  and  on  arriving  at 
Trieste  followed  her  to  the  door.  As 
we  alighted  from  the  carriage  I  noticed 
the  same  dark  man  standing  by  the 
steps,  his  fingers  on  his  hat.  During 
the  meal  my  companion  seemed  brighter 
and  less  weary,  more  gracious  and 
friendly,  until  I  called  the  waiter  and 
counted  out  the  florins  on  his  tray. 
Then  she  laid  her  hand  quietly  but 
firmly  upon  my  arm. 

'"Please  do  not  —  you  distress  me; 
my  servant  Polaff  has  paid  for  every- 
thing.' 

"I  looked  up.  The  dark  man  was 
standing  behind  her  chair,  his  hat  in  his 
hand. 

"  I  can  hardly  express  to  you  my  feel- 
ings as  these  several  discoveries  re- 
vealed to  me  little  by  little  the  con- 
ditions and  character  of  my  traveling 
companion.  Brought  up  myself  under 
a  narrow  home  influence,  with  only  a 
limited  knowledge  of  the  world,  I  had 
never  yet  been  thrown  in  with  a  woman 
of  her  class.  And  yet  I  cannot  say  that 
it  was  altogether  the  charm  of  her  per- 
son that  moved  me.  It  was  more  a 
certain  hopeless  sort  of  sorrow  that 
45 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 

seemed  to  envelop  her,  coupled  with  an 
indefinable  distrust  which  I  could  not 
solve.  Her  reserve,  however,  was  im- 
penetrable, and  her  guarded  silence  on 
every  subject  bearing  upon  herself  so 
pronounced  that  I  dared  not  break 
through  it.  Yet,  as  she  sat  there  in  the 
carriage  after  dinner,  during  the  earlier 
hours  of  the  night,  she  and  I  the  only 
occupants,  her  eyes  heavy  and  red  for 
want  of  sleep,  her  beautiful  hair  bound 
in  a  veil,  the  pallor  of  her  skin  intensi- 
fied by  the  sombre  hues  of  her  dress,  I 
would  have  given  anything  in  the  world 
to  have  known  her  well  enough  to  have 
comforted  her,  even  by  a  word. 

"  As  the  night  wore  on  the  situation 
became  intolerable.  Every  now  and 
then  she  would  start  from  her  seat, 
jostled  awake  by  the  roughness  of  the 
road,  —  this  section  had  just  been  com- 
pleted,—  turn  her  face  the  other  way, 
only  to  be  awakened  again. 

"  '  You  cannot  sleep.  May  I  make  a 
pillow  for  your  head  of  my  other  shawl  ? 
I  do  not  need  it.  My  coat  is  warm 
enough.' 

" '  No  ;  I  am  very  comfortable.' 

" '  Forgive  me,  you  are  not.     You  are 

very  uncomfortable,  and  it  pains  me  to 

see  you  so  weary.     These  dividing-irons 

make  it  impossible  for  you  to  lie  down. 

46 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 

Perhaps  I  can  make  a  cushion  for  your 
head  so  that  you  will  rest  easier.' 

"  She  looked  at  me  coldly,  her  eyes 
riveted  on  mine. 

" '  You  are  very  kind,  but  why  do  you 
care  ?  You  have  never  seen  me  before, 
and  may  never  again.' 

" '  I  care  because  you  are  a  woman, 
alone  and  unprotected.  I  care  most 
because  you  are  suffering.  Will  you  let 
me  help  you  ? ' 

"  She  bent  her  head,  and  seemed 
wrapped  in  thought.  Then  straightening 
up,  as  if  her  mind  had  suddenly  re- 
solved, — 

" '  No  ;  leave  me  alone.  I  will  sleep 
soon.  Men  never  really  care  for  a 
woman  when  she  suffers.'  She  turned 
her  face  to  the  window. 

" '  I  pity  you,  then,  from  the  bottom 
of  my  heart,'  I  replied,  nettled  at  her 
remark.  '  There  is  not  a  man  the  length 
and  breadth  of  my  land  who  would  not 
feel  for  you  now  as  I  do,  and  there  is 
not  a  woman  who  would  misunderstand 
him.' 

"  She  raised  her  head,  and  in  a 
softened  voice,  like  a  sorrowing  child's, 
it  was  so  pathetic,  said :  *  Please  forgive 
me.  I  had  no  right  to  speak  so.  I 
shall  be  very  grateful  to  you  if  you  can 
help  me  ;  I  am  so  tired.' 
47 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE   LEGION   OF   HONOR 

"  I  folded  the  shawl,  arranged  the  rug 
over  her  knees,  and  took  the  seat  beside 
her.  She  thanked  me,  laid  her  cheek 
upon  the  impromptu  pillow,  and  closed 
her  eyes.  The  train  sped  on,  the  car- 
riage swaying  as  we  rounded  the  curves, 
the  jolting  increasing  as  we  neared  the 
great  tunnel.  Settling  myself  in  my 
seat,  I  drew  my  traveling-cap  well  down 
so  that  its  shadow  from  the  overhead 
light  would  conceal  my  eyes,  and 
watched  her  unobserved.  For  half  an 
hour  I  followed  every  line  in  her  face, 
with  its  delicate  nostrils,  finely  cut  nose, 
white  temples  with  their  blue  veins,  and 
the  beautiful  hair  glistening  in  the  half- 
shaded  light,  the  long  lashes  resting, 
tired  out,  upon  her  cheek.  Soon  I 
noticed  at  irregular  intervals  a  nervous 
twitching  pass  over  her  face  ;  the  brow 
would  knit  and  relax  wearily,  the  mouth 
droop.  These  indications  of  extreme 
exhaustion  occurred  constantly,  and 
alarmed  me.  Unchecked,  they  would 
result  in  an  alarming  form  of  nervous 
prostration.  A  sudden  lurch  dislodged 
the  pillow. 

"  '  Have  you  slept  ? '  I  asked. 

"'I  do  not  know.  A  little,  I  think. 
The  car  shakes  so.' 

"  *  My  dear  lady,'  I  said,  laying  my 
hand  on  hers,  —  she  started,  but  did  not 
48 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 

move  her  own,  —  'it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary that  you  sleep,  and  at  once.  What 
your  nervous  strain  has  been,  I  know 
not ;  but  my  training  tells  me  that  it 
has  been  excessive,  and  still  is.  Its 
continuance  is  dangerous.  This  road 
gets  rougher  as  the  night  passes.  If 
you  will  rest  your  head  upon  my 
shoulder,  I  can  hold  you  so  that  you 
will  go  to  sleep.' 

"  Her  face  flushed,  and  she  recovered 
her  hand  quickly. 

" '  You  forget,  sir,  that '  — 

"  *  No,  no  ;  I  forget  nothing.  I  re- 
member everything  ;  that  I  am  a 
stranger,  that  you  are  ill,  that  you  are 
rapidly  growing  worse,  that,  knowing  as 
I  do  your  condition,  I  cannot  sit  here 
and  not  help  you.  It  would  be  brutal.' 

"  Her  lips  quivered,  and  her  eyes 
filled.  '  I  believe  you,'  she  said.  Then, 
turning  quickly  with  an  anxious  look, 
4  But  it  will  tire  you.' 

"  '  No ;  I  have  held  my  mother  that 
way  for  hours  at  a  time.' 

"  She  put  out  her  hand,  laid  it  gently 
on  my  wrist,  looked  into  my  face  long 
and  steadily,  scanning  every  feature,  as 
if  reassuring  herself,  then  laid  her  cheek 
upon  my  shoulder,  and  fell  asleep. 

"When  the  rising  sun  burst  behind 
49 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 

a  mountain-crag,  and,  at  a  turn  in  the 
road,  fell  full  upon  her  face,  she  awoke 
with  a  start,  and  looked  about  bewil- 
dered. Then  her  mind  cleared. 

"'How  good  you  have  been.  You 
have  not  moved  all  night  so  I  might 
rest.  I  awoke  once  frightened,  but  your 
hands  were  folded  in  your  lap.' 

"  With  this  her  whole  manner 
changed.  All  the  haughty  reserve  was 
gone ;  all  the  cynicism,  the  distrust, 
and  suspicion.  She  became  as  gentle 
and  tender  as  an  anxious  mother,  beg- 
ging me  to  go  to  sleep  at  once.  She 
would  see  that  no  one  disturbed  me.  It 
was  cruel  that  I  was  so  exhausted. 

"When  the  guard  entered,  she  sent 
for  her  servant,  and  bade  him  watch  out 
for  a  pot  of  coffee  at  the  next  station. 
'To  think  monsieur  had  not  slept  all 
night ! '  When  Polaff  handed  in  the 
tray,  she  filled  the  cups  herself,  adding 
the  sugar,  and  insisting  that  I  should 
also  drink  part  of  her  own,  —  one  cup 
was  not  enough.  Upon  Polaff's  return 
she  sent  for  her  dressing-case.  She 
must  make  her  toilet  at  once,  and  not 
disturb  me.  It  would  be  several  hours 
before  we  reached  Vienna  ;  she  felt  sure 
I  would  sleep  now. 

"  I  watched  her  as  she  spread  a  dainty 
towel  over  the  seat  in  front,  and  began 
5° 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION   OF  HONOR 

her  preparations,  laying  out  the  powder- 
boxes,  brushes,  and  comb,  the  bottles 
of  perfume,  and  the  little  knickknacks 
that  make  up  the  fittings  of  a  gentle- 
woman's boudoir.  It  was  almost  with  a 
show  of  enthusiasm  that  she  picked  up 
one  of  the  bottles,  and  pointed  out  to  me 
again  the  crest  in  relief  upon  its  silver 
top,  saying  over  and  over  again  how  glad 
she  was  to  know  that  some  of  her  own 
blood  ran  in  my  veins.  She  was  sure 
now  that  I  belonged  to  her  mother's 
people.  When,  at  the  next  station,  Polaff 
brought  a  basin  of  water,  and  I  arose  to 
leave  the  car,  she  begged  me  to  remain, 
—  the  toilet  was  nothing ;  it  would  be 
over  in  a  minute.  Then  she  loosened 
her  hair,  letting  it  fall  in  rich  masses 
about  her  shoulders,  and  bathed  her 
face  and  hands,  rearranging  her  veil, 
and  adding  a  fresh  bit  of  lace  to  her 
throat.  I  remember  distinctly  how  pro- 
found an  impression  this  strange  scene 
made  upon  my  mind,  so  different  from 
any  former  experience  of  my  life, — its 
freedom  from  conventionality,  the  lack  of 
all  false  modesty,  the  absolute  absence 
of  any  touch  of  coquetry  or  conscious 
allurement. 

"When   it  was   all  over,  her  beauty 
being  all  the  more  pronounced  now  that 
the  tired,  nervous  look  had  gone  out  of 
51 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 

her  face,  she  still  talked  on,  saying  how 
much  better  and  fresher  she  felt,  and 
how  much  more  rested  than  the  night 
before.  Suddenly  her  face  saddened, 
and  for  many  minutes  she  kept  silence, 
gazing  dreamily  down  into  the  abysses 
white  with  the  rush  of  Alpine  torrents, 
or  hidden  in  the  early  morning  fog. 
Then,  finding  I  would  not  sleep,  and 
with  an  expression  as  if  she  had  finally 
vesolved  upon  some  definite  action,  and 
with  a  face  in  which  every  line  showed 
the  sincerest  confidence  and  trust,  —  as 
unexpected  as  it  was  incomprehensible 
to  me,  —  she  said  :  — 

"'Last  night  you  asked  me  for  my 
name.  I  would  not  tell  you  then. 
Now  you  shall  know.  I  am  the  Count- 
ess de  Rescka  Smolenski.  I  live  in 
Cracow.  My  husband  died  in  Venice 
four  days  ago.  I  took  him  there  because 
he  was  ill,  —  so  ill  that  he  was  carried 
in  PolafF s  arms  from  the  gondola  to  his 
bed.  The  Russian  government  per- 
mitted me  to  take  him  to  Italy  to  die. 
One  Pole  the  less  is  of  very  little  con- 
sequence. A  week  ago  this  permit  was 
revoked,  and  we  were  ordered  to  re- 
port at  Cracow  without  delay.  Why,  I 
do  not  know,  except  perhaps  to  add  an- 
other cruelty  to  the  long  list  of  wrongs 
the  government  have  heaped  upon  my 
52 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 

family.  My  husband  lingered  three 
days  with  the  order  spread  out  on  the 
table  beside  him.  The  fourth  day  they 
laid  him  in  Campo  Santo.  That  night 
my  maid  fell  ill.  Yesterday  morning  a 
second  peremptory  order  was  handed 
me.  I  am  now  on  my  way  home  to 
obey.' 

"Then  followed  in  slow,  measured 
sentences  the  story  of  her  life  :  married 
at  seventeen  at  her  father's  bidding  to 
a  man  twice  her  age ;  surrounded  by  a 
court  the  most  dissolute  in  eastern 
Europe  ;  forced  into  a  social  environ- 
ment that  valued  woman  only  as  a 
chattel,  and  that  ostracized  or  defamed 
every  wife  who,  reverencing  her  woman- 
hood, protested  against  its  excesses. 
For  five  years  past  —  ever  since  her 
marriage  —  her  husband's  career  had 
been  one  long,  unending  dissipation. 
At  last,  broken  down  by  a  life  he  had 
not  the  moral  courage  to  resist,  he  had 
succumbed  and  taken  to  his  bed  ; 
thence,  wavering  between  life  and 
death,  like  a  burnt-out  candle  flickering 
in  its  socket,  he  had  been  carried  to 
Venice. 

"  *  Do  you  wonder,  now,  that  my  faith 
is  gone,  my  heart  broken  ? ' 

"  We  were  nearing  Vienna  ;  the  stations 

were  more  frequent;  our  own  carriage 

53 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 

began  filling  up.  For  an  hour  we  rode 
side  by  side,  silent,  she  gazing  fixedly 
from  the  window,  I  half  stunned  by  this 
glimpse  of  a  life  the  pathos  of  which 
wrung  my  very  heart.  When  we  en- 
tered the  station  she  roused  herself,  and 
said  to  me  half  pleadingly  :  — 

" '  I  cannot  bear  to  think  I  may  never 
see  you  again.  To-night  I  must  stay  in 
Vienna.  Will  you  dine  with  me  at  my 
hotel?  I  go  to  the  Metropole.  And 
you  ?  Where  did  you  intend  to  go  ? ' 

" '  To  the  Metropole,  also.' 

"  *  Not  when  you  left  Venice  ? ' 

"  '  Yes  ;  before  I  met  you.' 

"  *  There  is  a  fate  that  controls  us,' 
she  said  reverently.  '  Come  at  seven.' 

"When  the  hour  arrived  I  sent  my 
card  to  her  apartment,  and  was  ushered 
into  a  small  room  with  a  curtain-closed 
door  opening  out  into  a  larger  salon, 
through  which  I  caught  glimpses  of  a 
table  spread  with  glass  and  silver.  Polaff, 
rigid  and  perpendicular,  received  me 
with  a  stiff,  formal  recognition.  I  do 
not  think  he  quite  understood,  nor  alto- 
gether liked,  his  mistress's  chance  ac- 
quaintance. In  a  moment  she  entered 
from  a  door  opposite,  still  in  her  black 
garments  with  the  nun's  cuffs  and  broad 
collar.  Extending  her  hand  graciously, 
she  said :  — 

54 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 

" '  You  have  slept  since  I  left  you  this 
morning.  I  see  it  in  your  face.  I  am 
so  glad.  And  I  too.  I  have  rested  all 
day.  It  was  so  good  of  you  to  come.' 

"There  was  no  change  in  her  manner; 
the  same  frank,  trustful  look  in  her  eyes, 
the  same  anxious  concern  about  me. 
When  dinner  was  announced  she  placed 
me  beside  her,  Polaff  standing  behind 
her  chair,  and  the  other  attendants  ser- 
ving. 

"  The  talk  drifted  again  into  my  own 
life,  she  interrupting  with  pointed  ques- 
tions, and  making  me  repeat  again  and 
again  the  stories  I  told  her  of  our  hum- 
ble home.  She  must  learn  them  herself 
to  tell  them  to  her  own  people,  she  said. 
It  was  all  so  strange  and  new  to  her,  so 
simple  and  so  genuine.  With  the  coffee 
she  fell  to  talking  of  her  own  home,  the 
despotism  of  Russia,  the  death  of  her 
father,  the  forcing  of  her  brothers  into 
the  army.  Still  holding  her  cup  in  her 
hands,  she  began  pacing  up  and  down, 
her  eyes  on  the  floor  (we  were  alone, 
Polaff  having  retired).  Then  stopping 
in  front  of  me,  and  with  an  earnestness 
that  startled  me  :  — 

"  '  Do  not  go  to  Berlin.     Please  come 

to  Cracow  with  me.    Think.    I  am  alone, 

absolutely  alone.     My  house  is  in  order, 

and  has  been  for  months,  expecting  me 

55 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF   HONOR 

every  day.  It  is  so  terrible  to  go  back ; 
come  with  me,  please.' 

"  '  I  must  not,  madame.  I  have  prom- 
ised my  friends  to  be  in  Berlin  in  two 
days.  I  would,  you  know,  sacrifice  any- 
thing of  my  own  to  serve  you.' 

"  '  And  you  will  not  ? '  and  a  sigh  of 
disappointment  escaped  her. 

" '  I  cannot.' 

" '  No  ;  I  must  not  ask  you.  You  are 
right.  It  is  better  that  you  keep  your 
word.' 

"She  continued  walking,  gazing  still 
on  the  floor.  Then  she  moved  to  the 
mantel,  and  touched  a  bell.  Instantly 
the  curtains  of  the  door  divided,  and 
Polaff  stood  before  her. 

"  '  Bring  me  my  jewel-case.' 

"The  man  bowed  gravely,  looked  at 
me  furtively  from  the  corner  of  his  eye, 
and  closed  the  curtains  behind  him.  In 
a  moment  he  returned,  bearing  a  large, 
morocco-covered  box,  which  he  placed  on 
the  table.  She  pressed  the  spring,  and 
the  lid  flew  up,  uncovering  several  vel- 
vet-lined trays  filled  with  jewels  that 
flashed  under  the  lighted  candles. 

"'You  need  not  wait,  Polaff.  You 
can  go  to  bed.' 

"  The  man  stepped  back  a  pace,  stood 
by  the  wall,  fixed  his  eye  upon  his  mis- 
tress, as  if  about  to  speak,  looked  at  me 
56 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 

curiously,  then,  bowing  low,  drew  the 
curtains  aside,  and  closed  the  door  be- 
hind him. 

"Another  spring,  and  out  came  a 
great  string  of  pearls,  a  necklace  of  sap- 
phires, some  rubies,  and  emeralds. 
These  she  heaped  up  upon  the  white 
cloth  beside  her.  Carefully  examining 
the  contents  of  the  case,  she  drew  from 
a  lower  tray  a  bracelet  set  with  costly 
diamonds,  a  rare  and  beautiful  ornament, 
and  before  I  was  aware  of  her  intent  had 
clasped  it  upon  my  wrist. 

"'I  want  you  to  wear  this  for  me. 
You  see  it  is  large  enough  to  go  quite 
up  the  arm.' 

"  For  a  moment  my  astonishment  was 
so  great  I  could  not  speak.  Then  I 
loosened  it  and  laid  it  in  her  hand  again. 
She  looked  up,  her  eyes  filling,  her  face 
expressive  of  the  deepest  pain. 

" '  And  you  will  not  ? ' 

" '  I  cannot,  madame.  In  my  country 
men  do  not  accept  such  costly  presents 
from  women,  and  then  we  do  not  wear 
bracelets,  as  your  men  do  here.' 

"'Then  take  this  case,  and  choose 
for  yourself.' 

"  I  poured  the  contents  of  a  small  tray 
into  my  hand,  and  picked  out  a  plain 
locket,  almond-shaped,  simply  wrought, 
with  an  opening  on  one  side  for  hair. 
57 


A  KNIGHT   OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 

"  '  Give  me  this  with  your  hair.' 

"  She  threw  the  bracelet  into  the 
case,  and  her  eyes  lighted  up. 

"  *  Oh,  I  am  so  glad,  so  glad !  It  was 
mine  when  I  was  a  child,  —  my  mother 
gave  it  to  me.  The  dear  little  locket  — 
yes  ;  you  shall  always  wear  it.' 

"  Then,  rising  from  her  seat,  she  took 
my  hands  in  hers,  and,  looking  down 
into  my  face,  said,  her  voice  break- 
ing:— 

"'It  is  eleven  o'clock.  Soon  you 
must  leave  me.  You  cannot  stay  long- 
er. I  know  that  in  a  few  hours  I  shall 
never  see  you  again.  Will  you  join  me 
in  my  prayers  before  I  go  ? ' 

"A  few  minutes  later  she  called  to 
me.  She  was  on  her  knees  in  the  next 
room,  two  candles  burning  beside  her, 
her  rich  dark  hair  loose  about  her  shoul- 
ders, an  open  breviary  bound  with  silver 
in  her  hands.  I  can  see  her  now,  with 
her  eyes  closed,  her  lips  moving  noise- 
lessly, her  great  lashes  wet  with  tears, 
and  that  Madonna-like  look  as  she  mo- 
tioned me  to  kneel.  For  several  min- 
utes she  prayed  thus,  the  candles  light- 
ing her  face,  the  room  deathly  still. 
Then  she  arose,  and  with  her  eyes  half 
shut,  and  her  lips  moving  as  if  with  her 
unfinished  prayer,  she  lifted  her  head 
and  kissed  me  on  the  forehead,  on  the 
58 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 

chin,  and  on  each  cheek,  making  with 
her  finger  the  sign  of  the  cross.  Then, 
reaching  for  a  pair  of  scissors,  and  cut- 
ting a  small  tress  from  her  hair,  she 
closed  the  locket  upon  it,  and  laid  it  in 
my  hand. 

"  Early  the  next  morning  I  was  at  her 
door.  She  was  dressed  and  waiting. 
She  greeted  me  kindly,  but  mournfully, 
saying  in  a  tone  which  denoted  her 
belief  in  its  impossibility :  — 

"  '  And  you  will  not  go  to  Cracow  ? ' 
"When  we  reached  the  station,  and 
I  halted  at  the  small  gate  opening  upon 
the  train  platform,  she  merely  pressed 
my  hand,  covered  her  head  with  her 
veil,  and  entered  the  carriage  followed 
by  Polaff.  I  watched,  hoping  to  see  her 
face  at  the  window,  but  she  remained 
hidden. 

"I  turned  into  the  Ringstrasse,  still 
filled  with  her  presence,  and  tortured  by 
the  thought  of  the  conditions  that  pre- 
vented my  following  her,  called  a  cab, 
and  drove  to  our  minister's.  Mr.  Mot- 
ley then  held  the  portfolio  ;  my  passport 
had  expired,  and,  as  I  was  entering  Ger- 
many, needed  renewing.  The  attache 
agreed  to  the  necessity,  stamped  it,  and 
brought  it  back  to  me  with  the  ink  still 
wet. 

59 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 

"  *  His  excellency,'  said  he,  '  advises 
extreme  caution  on  your  part  while 
here.  Be  careful  of  your  associates,  and 
keep  out  of  suspicious  company.  Vienna 
is  full  of  spies  watching  escaped  Polish 
refugees.  Your  name '  —  reading  it 
carefully  — '  is  apt  to  excite  remark. 
We  are  powerless  to  help  in  these  cases. 
Only  last  week  an  American  who  be- 
friended a  man  in  the  street  was  arrested 
on  the  charge  of  giving  aid  and  comfort 
to  the  enemy,  and,  despite  our  efforts, 
is  still  in  prison.' 

"  I  thanked  him,  and  regained  my  cab 
with  my  head  whirling.  What,  after 
all,  if  the  countess  should  have  deceived 
me  ?  My  blood  chilled  as  I  remembered 
her  words  of  the  day  before :  recalled 
by  the  government  she  hated,  her  two 
brothers  forced  into  the  army,  the  cruel- 
ties and  indignities  Russia  had  heaped 
upon  her  family,  and  this  last  peremp- 
tory order  to  return.  Had  my  sympa- 
thetic nature  and  inexperience  gotten 
me  into  trouble  ?  Then  that  Madonna- 
like  head  with  angelic  face,  the  lips 
moving  in  prayer,  rose  before  me.  No, 
no ;  not  she.  I  would  stake  my  life. 

"  I    entered    my   hotel,    and    walked 

across  the  corridor  for   the  key  of  my 

room.     Standing  by  the  porter  was  an 

Austrian  officer  in  full  uniform,  even  to 

60 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 

his  white   kid   gloves.     As   I  passed  I 
heard  the  porter  say  in  German  :  — 

" '  Yes  ;  that  is  the  man.' 

"The  Austrian  looked  at  me  search- 
ingly,  and,  wheeling  around  sharply, 
said :  — 

"  '  Monsieur,  can  I  see  you  alone  ?  I 
have  something  of  importance  to  com- 
municate.' 

"  The  remark  and  his  abrupt  manner 
indicated  so  plainly  an  arrest,  that  for 
the  moment  I  hesitated,  running  over 
in  my  mind  what  might  be  my  wisest 
course  to  pursue.  Then,  thinking  I 
could  best  explain  my  business  in 
Vienna  in  the  privacy  of  my  room,  I 
said  stiffly :  — 

"  '  Yes ;  I  am  now  on  my  way  to  my 
apartment.  I  will  see  you  there.' 

"  He  entered  first,  shut  the  door  be- 
hind him,  crossed  the  room ;  passed  his 
hand  behind  the  curtains,  opened  the 
closet,  shut  it,  and  said :  — 

" '  We  are  alone  ? ' 

" '  Quite.' 

"  Then,  confronting  me,  '  You  are  an 
American  ? ' 

"  '  You  are  right.' 

"  '  And  have  your  passport  with  you  ? ' 

"I    drew    it    from    my  pocket,   and 
handed  it   to  him.     He  glanced  at  the 
signature,  refolded  it,  and  said :  — 
61 


A  KNIGHT   OF  THE  LEGION   OF   HONOR 

" '  You  took  the  Countess  Smolensk! 
to  the  station  this  morning.  Where  did 
you  meet  her  ? ' 

" '  On  the  train  yesterday  leaving 
Venice.' 

" '  Never  before  ? ' 

" '  Never.' 

" '  Why  did  she  not  leave  Venice 
earlier  ? ' 

" '  The  count  was  dying,  and  could  not 
be  moved.  He  was  buried  two  days 
ago.' 

"  A  shade  passed  over  his  face. 
'  Poor  De  Rescka !  I  suspected  as 
much.' 

"  Then  facing  me  again,  his  face  losing 
its  suspicious  expression  :  — 

" '  Monsieur,  I  am  the  brother  of  the 
countess, —  Colonel  Boski  of  the  army. 
A  week  ago  my  letters  were  intercepted, 
and  I  left  Cracow  in  the  night.  Since 
then  I  have  been  hunted  like  an  animal. 
This  uniform  is  my  third  disguise.  As 
soon  as  my  connection  with  the  plot  was 
discovered,  my  sister  was  ordered  home. 
The  death  of  the  count  explains  her  de- 
lay, and  prevented  my  seeing  her  at  the 
station.  I  had  selected  the  first  station 
out  of  Vienna.  I  tried  for  an  opportu- 
nity this  morning  at  the  depot,  but  dared 
not.  I  saw  you,  and  learned  from  the 
cabman  your  hotel.' 
62 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION  OF  HONOR 

"  '  But,  colonel,'  said  I,  the  attache's 
warning  in  my  ears,  '  you  will  pardon  me, 
but  these  are  troublous  times.  I  am 
alone  here,  on  my  way  to  Berlin  to  pur- 
sue my  studies.  I  found  the  countess 
ill  and  suffering,  and  unable  to  sleep. 
She  interested  me  profoundly,  and  I  did 
what  I  could  to  relieve  her.  I  would 
have  done  the  same  for  any  other  wo- 
man in  her  condition  the  world  over, 
no  matter  what  the  consequences.  If 
you  are  her  brother,  you  will  appreciate 
this.  If  you  are  here  for  any  other  pur- 
pose, say  so  at  once.  I  leave  Vienna  at 
noon.' 

"  His  color  flushed,  and  his  hand  in- 
stinctively felt  for  his  sword ;  then,  re- 
laxing, he  said  :  — 

" '  You  are  right.  The  times  are 
troublous.  Every  other  man  is  a  spy. 
I  do  not  blame  you  for  suspecting  me. 
I  have  nothing  but  my  word.  If  you  do 
not  believe  it,  I  cannot  help  it.  I  will 
go.  You  will  at  least  permit  me  to  thank 
you  for  your  kindness  to  my  sister,'  draw- 
ing off  his  glove  and  holding  out  his 
hand. 

" '  The  hand  of  a  soldier  is  never  re- 
fused the  world  over,'  and  I  shook  it 
warmly.  As  it  dropped  to  his  side  I 
caught  sight  of  his  seal-ring. 

" '  Pardon  me  one  moment.  Give  me 
63 


A   KNIGHT  OF   THE   LEGION   OF   HONOR 

your  hand  again. '  The  ring  bore  the  crest 
and  motto  of  the  countess. 

"  '  It  is  enough,  colonel.  Your  sister 
showed  me  her  own  on  the  train.  Par- 
don my  suspicions.  What  can  I  do  for 
you  ? '  He  looked  puzzled,  hardly  grasp- 
ing my  meaning. 

"  '  Nothing.  You  have  told  me  all  I 
wanted  to  know.' 

"  '  But  you  will  breakfast  with  me  be- 
fore I  take  the  train  ? '  I  said. 

"  '  No  ;  that  might  get  you  into  trouble 
—  serious  trouble,  if  I  should  be  arrested. 
On  the  contrary,  I  must  insist  that  you 
remain  in  this  room  until  I  leave  the 
building.' 

" '  But  you  perhaps  need  money ;  these 
disguises  are  expensive,'  glancing  at  his 
perfect  appointment. 

"'You  are  right.  Perhaps  twenty 
rubles  —  it  will  be  enough.  Give  me 
your  address  in  Berlin.  If  I  am  taken, 
you  will  lose  your  money.  If  I  escape, 
it  will  be  returned.' 

"  I  shook  his  hand,  and  the  door 
closed.  A  week  later  a  man  wrapped 
in  a  cloak  called  at  my  lodgings  and 
handed  me  an  envelope.  There  was 
no  address  and  no  message,  only  twenty 
rubles." 

I   looked  out  over  the  sea  wrinkling 
64 


A   KNIGHT   OF   THE   LEGION   OF   HONOR 

below  me  like  a  great  sheet  of  gray 
satin.  The  huge  life-boat  swung  above 
our  heads,  standing  out  in  strong  relief 
against  the  sky.  After  a  long  pause,  — 
the  story  had  strangely  thrilled  me,  —  I 
asked :  — 

"  Pardon  me,  have  you  ever  seen  or 
heard  of  the  countess  since  ? " 
;  Never." 

;  Nor  her  brother  ? " 
Nor  her  brother." 
And  the  locket  ? " 
'  It  is  here  where  she  placed  it." 

At  this  instant  the  moon  rolled  out 
from  behind  a  cloud,  and  shone  full  on 
his  face.  He  drew  out  his  watch-chain, 
touched  it  with  his  thumb-nail,  and 
placed  the  trinket  in  my  hand.  It  was 
such  as  a  child  might  wear,  an  enameled 
thread  encircling  it.  Through  the  glass 
I  could  see  the  tiny  nest  of  jet-black 
hair. 

For  some  moments  neither  of  us 
spoke.  At  last,  with  my  heart  aglow, 
my  whole  nature  profoundly  stirred  by 
the  unconscious  nobility  of  the  man,  I 
said :  — 

"My  friend,  do  you  know  why  she 
bound  the  bracelet  to  your  wrist  ? " 

"No;  that  always  puzzled  me.  I  have 
often  wondered." 

"  She  bound  the  bracelet  to  your  wrist, 
65 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  LEGION   OF  HONOR 

as  of  old  a  maid  would  have  wound  her 
scarf  about  the  shield  of  her  victorious 
knight,  as  the  queen  would  pin  the  iron 
cross  to  the  breast  of  a  hero.  You  were 
the  first  gentleman  she  had  ever  known 
in  her  life." 

66 


JOHN  SANDERS,  LABORER1 

HE  came  from  up  the  railroad  near 
the  State  line.  Sanders  was  the 
name  on  the  pay-roll,  —  John  Sanders, 
laborer.  There  was  nothing  remarkable 
about  him.  He  was  like  a  hundred 
others  up  and  down  the  track.  If  you 
paid  him  off  on  Saturday  night  you 
would  have  forgotten  him  the  next  week, 
unless,  perhaps,  he  had  spoken  to  you. 
He  looked  fifty  years  of  age,  and  yet 
he  might  have  been  but  thirty.  He  was 
stout  and  strong,  his  hair  and  beard 
cropped  short.  He  wore  a  rough  blue 
jumper,  corduroy  trousers,  and  a  red 
flannel  shirt,  which  showed  at  his  throat 
and  wrists.  He  wore,  too,  a  leather  strap 
buckled  about  his  waist. 

If  there  was  anything  that  distin- 
guished him  it  was  his  mouth  and  eyes, 
especially  when  he  smiled.  The  mouth 
was  clean  and  fresh,  the  teeth  snow- 
white  and  regular,  as  if  only  pure  things 

1  The  outlines  of  this  story  were  given  me  by  my 
friend  Augustus  Thomas,  whose  plays  are  but  an 
index  to  the  tenderness  of  his  own  nature. 
67 


JOHN  SANDERS,  LABORER 

came  through  them ;  the  eyes  were 
frank  and  true,  and  looked  straight  at 
you  without  wavering.  If  you  gave 
him  an  order  he  said,  "  Yes,  sir,"  never 
taking  his  gaze  from  yours  until  every 
detail  was  complete.  When  he  asked  a 
question  it  was  to  the  point  and  short. 

The  first  week  he  shoveled  coal  on  a 
siding,  loading  the  yard  engines.  Then 
Burchard,  the  station-master,  sent  him 
down  to  the  street  crossing  to  flag  the 
trains  for  the  dump  carts  filling  the 
scows  at  the  long  dock. 

This  crossing  right-angled  a  deep  rail- 
road cut  half  a  mile  long.  On  the  level 
above,  looking  down  upon  its  sloping 
sides,  staggered  a  row  of  half-drunken 
shanties  with  blear-eyed  windows,  and 
ragged  roofs  patched  and  broken  ;  some 
hung  over  on  crutches  caught  under 
their  floor  timbers.  Sanders  lived  in 
one  of  these  cabins,  —  the  one  nearest 
the  edge  of  the  granite  retaining-wall 
flanking  the  street  crossing. 

Up  the  slopes  of  this  railroad  cut  lay 
the  refuse  of  the  shanties,  —  bottomless 
buckets,  bits  of  broken  chairs,  tomato 
cans,  rusty  hoops,  fragments  of  straw 
matting,  and  other  debris  of  the  open 
lots.  In  the  summer-time  a  few  brave 
tufts  of  grass,  coaxed  into  life  by  the 
warm  sun,  clung  desperately  to  an  acci- 
68 


JOHN   SANDERS,  LABORER 

dental  level,  and  now  and  then  a  gay 
dandelion  flamed  for  a  day  or  two  and 
then  disappeared,  cut  off  by  some  bed- 
ouin goat.  In  the  winter  there  were 
only  patches  of  blackened  snow,  fouled 
by  the  endless  smoke  of  passing  trains, 
and  seamed  with  the  short-cut  footpaths 
of  the  yard  men. 

There  were  only  two  in  Sanders's 
shanty,  —  Sanders  and  his  crippled 
daughter,  a  girl  of  twelve,  with  a  broken 
back.  She  barely  reached  the  sill  when 
she  stood  at  the  low  window  to  watch 
her  father  waving  his  flag.  Bent,  hol- 
low-eyed, shrunken;  her  red  hair 
cropped  short  in  her  neck;  her  poor 
little  white  fingers  clutching  the  win- 
dow-frame. "The  express  is  late  this 
morning,"  or  "No.  14  is  on  time,"  she 
would  say,  her  restless,  eager  blue  eyes 
glancing  at  the  clock,  or  "What  a  lot 
of  ashes  they  do  be  haulin'  to-day!" 
Nothing  else  was  to  be  seen  from  her 
window. 

When  the  whistle  blew  she  took  down 
the  dinner-pail,  filled  it  with  potatoes 
and  the  piece  of  pork  hot  from  the  boil- 
ing pot,  poured  the  coffee  in  the  tin  cup, 
put  on  the  cover,  and,  limping  to  the 
edge  of  the  retaining-wall,  lowered  it 
over  by  a  string  to  her  father.  Sanders 
looked  up  and  waved  his  hand,  and  the 
69 


JOHN   SANDERS,   LABORER 

girl  went  back  to  her  post  at  the  win- 
dow. 

When  the  night  came  he  would  light 
the  kerosene  lamp  in  their  one  room  and 
read  aloud  the  stories  from  the  Sunday 
papers,  she  listening  eagerly  and  asking 
him  questions  he  could  not  answer,  her 
eyes  filling  with  tears  or  her  face  break- 
ing into  smiles.  This  summed  up  her 
life. 

Not  much  in  the  world,  all  this,  for 
Sanders !  —  not  much  of  rest,  or  com- 
fort, or  happy  sunshine,  —  not  much  of 
song  or  laughter,  the  pipe  of  birds  or 
smell  of  sweet  blossoms,  —  not  much 
room  for  gratitude  or  courage  or  human 
kindness  or  charity.  Only  the  ceaseless 
engine-bell,  the  grime,  the  sulphurous 
hellish  smoke,  the  driving  rain,  the  ice 
and  dust,  —  only  the  endless  monotony 
of  ill  -  smelling,  steaming  carts,  the 
smoke-stained  signal -flag  and  greasy 
lantern,  —  only  the  tottering  shanty 
with  the  two  beds,  the  stove,  and  the 
few  chairs  and  table,  —  only  the  blue- 
eyed  crippled  girl  who  wound  her  thin 
arms  about  his  neck. 

It  was  on  Sundays  in  the  summer 
that  the  dreary  monotony  ceased.  Then 
Sanders  would  carry  her  to  the  edge  of 
the  woods,  a  mile  or  more  back  of  the 
cut.  There  was  a  little  hollow  carpeted 
70 


JOHN  SANDERS,  LABORER 

with  violets,  and  a  pond,  where  now  and 
then  a  water-lily  escaped  the  factory 
boys,  and  there  were  big  trees  and 
bushes  and  stretches  of  grass,  ending 
in  open  lots  squared  all  over  by  the  sod 
gatherers. 

On  these  days  Sanders  would  lie  on 
his  back  and  watch  the  treetops  sway- 
ing in  the  sunlight  against  the  sky,  and 
the  girl  would  sit  by  him  and  make 
mounds  of  fresh  mosses  and  pebbles, 
and  tie  the  wild  flowers  into  bunches. 
Sometimes  he  would  pretend  that  there 
were  fish  in  the  pond,  and  would  cut  a 
pole  and  bend  a  pin,  tie  on  a  bit  of 
string,  and  sit  for  hours  watching  the 
cork,  she  laughing  beside  him  in  expec- 
tation. Sometimes  they  would  both  go 
to  sleep,  his  arm  across  her.  And  so 
the  summer  passed. 

One  day  in  the  autumn,  at  twelve- 
o'clock  whistle,  a  crowd  of  young  ruf- 
fians from  the  bolt-works  near  the 
brewery  swept  down  the  crossing  chas- 
ing a  homeless  dog.  Sanders  stood  in 
the  road  with  his  flag.  A  passing 
freight  train  stopped  the  mob.  The 
dog  dashed  between  the  wheels,  doub- 
ling, and  then  bounding  up  the  slope  of 
the  cut,  sprang  through  the  half-open 
door  of  the  shanty.  When  he  saw  the 
girl  he  stopped  short,  hesitated,  looked 


JOHN   SANDERS,   LABORER 

anxiously  into  her  face,  crouched  flat, 
and  pulling  himself  along  by  his  paws, 
laid  his  head  at  her  feet.  When  San- 
ders came  home  that  night  the  dog  was 
asleep  in  her  lap.  He  was  about  to 
drive  him  out  until  he  caught  the  look 
in  her  face,  then  he  stopped,  and  laid 
his  empty  dinner-pail  on  the  shelf. 

"I  seen  him  a-comin',"  he  said; 
"them  rats  from  the  bolt -factory  was 
a-humpin'  him,  too  !  Guess  if  the  freight 
had  n't  a-come  along  they  'd  a-ketched 
him." 

The  dog  looked  wistfully  into  San- 
ders's  face,  scanning  him  curiously,  tim- 
idly putting  out  his  paw  and  dropping 
it,  as  if  he  had  been  too  bold,  and 
wanted  to  make  some  sort  of  a  dumb 
apology,  like  a  poor  relation  who  has 
come  to  spend  the  day.  He  had  never 
had  any  respectable  ancestors,  —  none 
to  speak  of.  You  could  see  that  in  the 
coarse,  shaggy  hair,  like  a  door  mat ; 
the  awkward  ungainly  walk,  the  legs 
doubling  under  him  ;  the  drooping  tail 
with  bare  spots  down  its  length,  sug- 
gesting past  indignities.  He  was  not 
a  large  dog  —  only  about  as  high  as  a 
chair  seat;  he  had  mottled  lips,  too, 
and  sharp,  sawlike  teeth.  One  ear  was 
gone,  perhaps  in  his  puppyhood,  when 
some  one  had  tried  to  make  a  terrier  of 
72 


JOHN   SANDERS,   LABORER 

him  and  had  stopped  when  half  done. 
The  other  ear,  however,  was  active 
enough  for  two.  It  would  curl  forward 
in  attention  like  a  deer's,  or  start  up 
like  a  rabbit's  in  alarm,  or  lie  back  on 
his  head  when  the  girl  stroked  him  to 
sleep.  He  was  only  a  kickable,  chasa- 
ble  kind  of  a  dog,  —  a  dog  made  for 
sounding  tin  pans  tied  to  his  tail  and 
whooping  boys  behind. 

All  but  his  eyes  !  These  were  brown 
as  agates,  and  as  deep  and  clear. 
Kindly  eyes  that  looked  and  thought 
and  trusted.  It  was  these  eyes  that  first 
made  the  girl  love  him  ;  they  reminded 
her,  strange  to  say,  of  her  father's.  She 
saw,  too,  perhaps  unconsciously  to  her- 
self, down  in  their  depths,  something 
of  the  same  hunger  for  sympathy  that 
stirred  her  own  heart  —  the  longing  for 
companionship.  She  wanted  something 
nearer  her  own  age  to  love,  though  she 
never  told  her  father.  This  was  a  heart- 
ache she  kept  to  herself,  perhaps  be- 
cause she  hardly  understood  it. 

The  dog  and  the  girl  became  insepa- 
rable. At  night  he  slept  under  her  bed, 
reaching  his  head  up  in  the  gray  dawn, 
and  licking  her  face  until  she  covered 
him  up  warm  beside  her.  When  the 
trains  passed  he  would  stand  up  on  his 
hind  legs,  his  paws  on  the  sill,  his  blunt 
73 


JOHN  SANDERS,  LABORER 

little  nose  against  the  pane,  whining  at 
the  clanging  bells,  or  barking  at  the 
great  rings  of  steam  and  smoke  coughed 
up  by  the  engines  below. 

She  taught  him  all  manner  of  tricks. 
How  to  walk  on  his  hind  feet  with  a 
paper  cap  on  his  head,  a  plate  in  his 
mouth,  begging.  How  to  make  believe 
he  was  dead,  lying  still  a  minute  at 
a  time,  his  odd  ear  furling  nervously 
and  his  eyes  snapping  fun ;  how  to 
carry  a  basket  to  the  grocery  on  the 
corner,  when  she  would  limp  out  in  the 
morning  for  a  penny's  worth  of  milk  or 
a  loaf  of  bread,  he  waiting  until  she 
crossed  the  street,  and  then  marching 
on  proudly  before  her. 

With  the  coming  of  the  dog  a  new 
and  happier  light  seemed  to  have  bright- 
ened the  shanty.  Sanders  himself  be- 
gan to  feel  the  influence.  He  would 
play  with  him  by  the  hour,  holding  his 
mouth  tight,  pushing  back  his  lips  so 
that  his  teeth  glistened,  twirling  his  ear. 
There  was  a  third  person  now  for  him 
to  consult  and  talk  to.  "  It  '11  be  tum- 
ble cold  at  the  crossin'  to-day,  won't  it, 
Dog?"  or,  "Thet's  No.  23  puffin'  up 
in  the  cut :  don't  yer  know  her  bell  ? 
Wonder,  Dog,  what  she's  switched 
fur  ? "  he  would  say  to  him.  He  noticed, 
too,  that  the  girl's  cheeks  were  not  so 
74 


JOHN   SANDERS,   LABORER 

white  and  pinched.  She  seemed  taller 
and  not  so  weary ;  and  when  he  walked 
up  the  cut,  tired  out  with  the  day's  work, 
she  always  met  him  at  the  door,  the 
dog  springing  half  way  down  the  slope, 
wagging  his  tail  and  bounding  ahead 
to  welcome  him.  And  she  would  sing 
little  snatches  of  songs  that  her  mother 
had  taught  her  years  ago,  before  the 
great  flood  swept  away  the  cabin  and 
left  only  her  father  and  herself  clinging 
to  a  bridge,  she  with  a  broken  back. 

After  a  while  Sanders  coaxed  him 
down  to  the  track,  teaching  him  to  bring 
back  his  empty  dinner-pail,  the  dog 
spending  the  hour  with  him,  sitting  by 
his  side  demurely,  or  asleep  in  the  sen- 
try-box. 

All  this  time  the  dog  never  rose  to 
the  dignity  of  any  particular  name.  The 
girl  spoke  of  him  as  "  Doggie,"  and  San- 
ders always  as  "  the  Dog."  The  train- 
men called  him  "Rags,"  in  deference, 
no  doubt,  to  his  torn  ear  and  threadbare 
tail.  They  threw  coal  at  him  as  he 
passed,  until  it  leaked  out  that  he  be- 
longed to  "  Sanders' s  girl."  Then  they 
became  his  champions,  and  this  name 
and  pastime  seemed  out  of  place.  Only 
once  did  he  earn  any  distinguishing  sob- 
riquet. That  was  when  he  had  saved 
the  girl's  basket,  after  a  sharp  fight  with 
75 


JOHN    SANDERS,   LABORER 

a  larger  and  less  honest  dog.  Sanders 
then  spoke  of  him,  with  half-concealed 
pride,  as  "  the  Boss,"  but  this  only  last, 
ed  a  day  or  so.  Publicly,  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, he  was  known  as  "  Sanders's 
dog." 

One  morning  the  dog  came  limping  up 
the  cut  with  a  broken  leg.  Some  said 
a  horse  had  kicked  him  ;  some  that  the 
factory  boys  had  thrown  stones  at  him. 
He  made  no  outcry,  only  came  sorrow- 
fully in,  his  mouth  dry  and  dust-covered, 
dragging  his  hind  leg,  that  hung  loose 
like  a  flail ;  then  he  laid  his  head  in  the 
girl's  lap.  She  crooned  and  cried  over 
him  all  day,  binding  up  the  bruised  limb, 
washing  his  eyes  and  mouth,  putting  him 
in  her  own  bed.  There  was  no  one  to 
go  for  her  father,  and  if  there  were,  he 
could  not  leave  the  crossing.  When 
Sanders  came  home  he  felt  the  leg  over 
carefully,  the  girl  watching  eagerly. 
"  No,  Kate,  child,  yees  can't  do  nothin' ; 
it 's  broke  at  the  jint.  Don't  cry,  young 
one." 

Then  he  went  outside  and  sat  on  a 
bench,  looking  across  the  cut  and  over 
the  roofs  of  the  factories,  hazy  in  the 
breath  of  a  hundred  furnaces,  and  so 
across  the  blue  river  fringed  with  waving 
trees  where  the  blessed  sun  was  sinking 
to  rest.  He  was  not  surprised.  It  was 
76 


JOHN   SANDERS,   LABORER 

like  everything  else  in  his  life.  When 
he  loved  something,  it  was  sure  to  be 
this  way. 

That  night,  when  the  girl  was  asleep, 
he  took  the  dog  up  in  his  arms,  and 
wrapping  his  coat  around  him  so  the 
corner  loafers  could  not  see,  rang  the 
bell  of  the  dispensary.  The  doctor  was 
out,  but  a  nurse  looked  at  the  wound. 
"  No,  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  ;  the 
socket  had  been  crushed.  Keep  it  ban- 
daged, that  was  all."  Then  he  brought 
him  home  and  put  him  under  the  bed. 

In  three  or  four  weeks  he  was  about 
again,  dragging  the  leg  when  he  walked. 
He  could  still  get  around  the  shanty  and 
over  to  the  grocer's,  but  he  could  not 
climb  the  hill,  even  with  the  pail  empty. 
He  tried  one  day,  but  he  only  climbed 
half  way.  Sanders  found  him  in  the 
path  when  he  went  home,  lying  down  by 
the  pail. 

Sanders  worried  over  the  dog.  He 
missed  the  long  talks  at  the  crossing 
over  the  dinner,  the  poor  fellow  sitting 
by  his  side  watching  every  spoonful,  his 
eyes  glistening,  the  old  ear  furling  and 
unfurling  like  a  toy  flag.  He  missed, 
too,  his  scampering  after  the  sparrows 
and  pigeons  that  often  braved  the  deso- 
lation and  smoke  of  this  inferno  to  pick 
up  the  droppings  from  the  carts.  He 
77 


JOHN  SANDERS,  LABORER 

missed  more  than  all  the  companionship, 
—  somebody  to  sit  beside  him. 

As  for  the  girl  —  there  was  now  a 
double  bond  between  her  and  the  dog. 
He  was  not  only  poor  and  an  outcast, 
but  a  cripple  like  herself.  Before,  she 
was  his  friend,  now,  she  was  his  mother, 
whispering  to  him,  her  cheek  to  his  ; 
holding  him  up  to  the  window  to  see  the 
trains  rush  by,  his  nose  touching  the 
glass,  his  poor  leg  dangling. 

The  train  hands  missed  him  too,  vow- 
ing vengeance,  and  the  fireman  of  No.  6, 
Joe  Connors,  spent  half  a  Sunday  trying 
to  find  the  boy  that  threw  the  stone. 
Bill  Adams,  who  ran  the  yard  engine, 
went  all  the  way  home  the  next  day 
after  the  accident  for  a  bottle  of  horse 
liniment,  and  left  it  at  the  shanty,  and 
said  he'd  get  the  doctor  at  the  next 
station  if  Sanders  wanted. 

One  broiling  hot  August  day  —  a  day 
when  the  grasshoppers  sang  among  the 
weeds  in  the  open  lot,  and  the  tar 
dripped  down  from  the  roofs,  when  the 
teams  strained  up  the  hill  reeking  with 
sweat,  a  wet  sponge  over  their  eyes,  and 
the  drivers  walked  beside  their  carts 
mopping  their  necks  —  on  one  of  these 
steaming  August  days  the  dog  limped 
down  to  the  crossing  just  to  rub  his  nose 
once  against  Sanders  as  he  stood  waving 
78 


JOHN   SANDERS,   LABORER 

his  flag,  or  to  look  wistfully  up  into  his 
face  as  he  sat  in  the  little  pepper-box 
of  a  house  that  sheltered  his  flags  and 
lantern.  He  did  not  often  come  now. 
They  were  making  up  the  local  freight 
— the  yard  engine  backing  and  shunting 
the  cars  into  line.  Bill  Adams  was  at 
the  throttle  and  Connors  was  firing.  A 
few  yards  below  Sanders's  sentry-box 
stood  an  empty  flat  car  on  a  siding.  It 
threw  a  grateful  shade  over  the  hard 
cinder-covered  tracks.  The  dog  had 
crawled  beneath  its  trucks  and  lay  asleep, 
his  stiffened  leg  over  the  switch  frog. 
Adams's  yard  engine  puffing  by  woke  him 
with  a  start.  There  was  a  struggle,  a 
yell  of  pain,  and  the  dog  fell  over  on  his 
back,  his  useless  leg  fast  in  the  frog. 
Sanders  heard  the  cry  of  agony,  threw 
down  his  flag,  bounded  over  the  cross- 
ties,  and  crawled  beneath  the  trucks. 
The  dog's  cries  stopped.  But  the  leg 
was  fast.  In  a  moment  more  he  had 
rushed  back  to  his  box,  caught  up  a  crow- 
bar, and  was  forcing  the  joint.  It  did 
not  give  an  inch.  There  was  but  one 
thing  left  —  to  throw  the  switch  before 
the  express,  due  in  two  minutes,  whirled 
past.  In  another  instant  a  man  in  a  blue 
jumper  was  seen  darting  up  the  tracks. 
He  sprang  at  a  lever,  bounded  back,  and 
threw  himself  under  the  flat  car.  Then 
79 


JOHN   SANDERS,   LABORER 

the  yelp  of  a  dog  in  pain,  drowned  by 
the  shriek  of  an  engine  dashing  into  the 
cut  at  full  speed.  Then  a  dog  thrown 
clear  of  the  track,  a  crash  like  a  falling 
house,  and  a  flat  car  smashed  into  kin- 
dling wood. 

When  the  conductor  and  passengers 
of  the  express  walked  back,  Bill  Adams 
was  bending  over  a  man  in  a  blue  jumper 
laid  flat  on  the  cinders.  He  was  bleed- 
ing from  a  wound  in  his  head.  Lying 
beside  him  was  a  yellow  dog  licking  his 
stiffened  hand.  A  doctor  among  the 
passengers  opened  his  red  shirt  and 
pressed  his  hand  on  the  heart.  He  said 
he  was  breathing,  and  might  live.  Then 
they  brought  a  stretcher  from  the  office, 
and  Connors  and  Bill  Adams  carried  him 
up  the  hill,  the  dog  following,  limping. 

Here  they  laid  him  on  a  bed  beside  a 
sobbing,  frightened  girl ;  the  dog  at  her 
feet. 

Adams  bent  over  him,  washing  his 
head  with  a  wad  of  cotton  waste. 

Just  before  he  died  he  opened  his 
eyes,  rested  them  on  his  daughter,  half 
raised  his  head  as  if  in  search  of  the 
dog,  and  then  fell  back  on  his  bed, 
that  same  sweet,  clear  smile  about  his 
mouth. 

"  John  Sanders,"  said  Adams,  "  how 
in  h —  could  a  sensible  man  like  you 
80 


JOHN   SANDERS,   LABORER 

throw  his  life  away  for  a  damned  yellow 
dog?" 

"Don't,  Billy,"  he  said.     "I  couldn't 
help  it.     He  was  a  cripple." 
81 


BAADER 

I  WAS  sitting  in  the  shadow  of 
Mme.  Poulard's  delightful  inn  at 
St.  Michel  when  I  first  saw  Baader. 
Dinner  had  been  served,  and  I  had 
helped  to  pay  for  my  portion  by  tacking 
a  sketch  on  the  wall  behind  the  chair  of 
the  hostess.  This  high  valuation  was 
not  intended  as  a  special  compliment  to 
me,  the  wall  being  already  covered  with 
similar  souvenirs  from  the  sketch-books 
of  half  the  painters  in  Europe. 

Baader,  he  pronounced  it  Bayder,  had 
at  that  moment  arrived  in  answer  to  a 
telegram  from  the  governor,  who  the 
night  before,  in  a  moment  of  desperation, 
had  telegraphed  the  proprietor  of  his 
hotel  in  Paris,  "Send  me  a  courier  at 
once  who  knows  Normandy  and  speaks 
English."  The  bare-headed  man  who, 
hat  in  hand,  was  at  this  moment  bowing 
so  obsequiously  to  the  governor,  was  the 
person  who  had  arrived  in  response. 
He  was  short  and  thick-set,  and  perfectly 
bald  on  the  top  of  his  head  in  a  small 
spot,  friar-fashion.  He  glistened  with 
82 


BAADER 

perspiration  that  collected  near  the  hat- 
line,  and  escaped  in  two  streams,  drown- 
ing locks  of  black  hair  covering  each 
temple,  stranding  them  like  wet  grass  on 
his  cheek-bones  below.  His  full  face  was 
clean-shaven,  smug,  and  persuasive,  and 
framed  two  shoe-button  eyes  that,  while 
sharp  and  alert,  lacked  neither  humor  nor 
tenderness. 

He  wore  a  pair  of  new  green  kid 
gloves,  was  dressed  in  a  brown  cloth 
coat  bound  with  a  braid  of  several  differ- 
ent shades,  showing  different  dates  of 
repair,  and  surmounted  by  a  velvet  collar 
of  the  same  date  as  the  coat.  His 
trousers  were  of  a  nondescript  gray,  and 
flapped  about  a  pair  of  brand-new 
gaiters,  evidently  purchased  for  the  oc- 
casion, and,  from  the  numerous  positions 
assumed  while  he  talked,  evidently  one 
size  too  small. 

His  hat  —  the  judicious  use  of  which 
added  such  warmth,  color,  and  pictur- 
esqueness  to  his  style  of  delivery,  now 
pressed  to  his  chest,  now  raised  aloft, 
now  debased  to  the  cobbles  —  had  once 
had  some  dignity  and  proportions.  Con- 
tinual maltreatment  had  long  since  taken 
all  the  gay  and  frolicsome  curl  out  of  its 
brim,  while  the  crown  had  so  often  col- 
lapsed that  the  scars  of  ill-usage  were 
visible  upon  it.  And  yet  at  a  distance 
83 


BAADER 

this  relic  of  a  former  fashion,  as  handled 
by  Baader,  —  it  was  so  continually  in  his 
grasp  and  so  seldom  on  his  head,  that 
you  could  never  say  it  was  worn,  —  this 
hat,  brushed,  polished,  and  finally  slicked 
by  its  owner  to  a  state  slightly  confusing 
as  to  whether  it  were  made  of  polished 
iron  or  silk,  was  really  a  very  gay  and 
attractive  affair. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  the  person  be- 
fore me  had  spared  neither  skill,  time, 
nor  expense  to  make  as  favorable  an  im- 
pression on  his  possible  employers  as  lay 
in  his  power. 

"  At  the  moment  of  the  arrival  of  ze 
d£pe"che  telegraphique,"  Baader  contin- 
ued, "  I  was  in  ze  office  of  monsieur  ze 
propri6taire.  It  was  at  ze  conclusion 
of  some  arrangement  commercial,  when 
mon  ami  ze  propri6taire  say  to  me  : 
'Baader,  it  is  ze  abandoned  season  in 
Paris.  Why  not  arrange  for  ze  gentle- 
men in  Normandy  ?  The  number  of 
francs  a  day  will  be  at  least '  "  —  here 
Baader  scrutinized  carefully  the  govern- 
or's face  —  "  '  at  least  to  ze  amount 
of  ten '  —  is  it  not  so,  messieurs  ?  Of 
course,"  noting  a  slight  contraction  of 
the  eyebrows,  "  if  ze  service  was  of  long 
time,  and  to  ze  most  far-away  point, 
some  abatement  could  be  posseeble.  If, 
par  exemple,  it  was  to  St.  Malo,  St.  Ser- 


BAADER 

van,  Parame",  Cancale  speciale,  Dieppe 
petite,  Dinard,  and  ze  others,  the  sum  of 
nine  francs  would  be  quite  sufficient." 

The  governor  had  never  heard  Dieppe 
called  "petite"  nor  Cancale  "spe"ciale," 
and  said  so,  lifting  his  eyebrows  inquir- 
ingly. Baader  did  not  waver.  "But  if 
messieurs  pretend  a  much  smaller  route 
and  of  few  days,  say  to  St.  Michel,  Pa- 
ramd,  and  Cancale,"  —  here  the  govern- 
or's brow  relaxed  again,  —  "  then  it  was 
imposseeble,  —  if  messieurs  will  pardon, 
—  quite  imposseeble  for  less  zan  ten 
francs." 

So  the  price  was  agreed  upon,  and  the 
hat,  now  with  a  decided  metallic  sheen, 
once  more  swept  the  cobblestones  of  the 
courtyard.  The  ceremony  being  over, 
its  owner  then  drew  off  the  green  kid 
gloves,  folded  them  flat  on  his  knee, 
guided  them  into  the  inside  pocket  of  the 
brown  coat  with  the  assorted  bindings 
as  carefully  as  if  they  had  been  his  letter 
of  credit,  and  declared  himself  at  our 
service. 

It  was  when  he  had  been  installed  as 
custodian  not  only  of  our  hand  luggage, 
but  to  a  certain  extent  of  our  bank  ac- 
counts and  persons  for  some  days,  that 
he  urged  upon  the  governor  the  advisabil- 
ity of  our  at  once  proceeding  to  Cancale, 
or  Cancale  sp6ciale,  as  he  insisted  on 
85 


BAADER 

calling  it.  I  immediately  added  my  own 
voice  to  his  pleadings,  arguing  that  Can- 
cale  must  certainly  be  on  the  sea.  That, 
from  my  recollection  of  numerous  water- 
colors  and  black-and-whites  labeled  in 
the  catalogue,  "  Coast  near  Cancale," 
and  the  like,  I  was  sure  there  must  be 
the  customary  fish-girls,  with  shrimp- 
nets  carried  gracefully  over  one  shoulder, 
to  say  nothing  of  brawny-chested  fisher- 
men with  flat,  rimless  caps,  having  the 
usual  little  round  button  on  top. 

The  governor,  however,  was  obdurate. 
He  had  a  way  of  being  obdurate  when 
anything  irritated  him,  and  Baader  began 
to  be  one  of  these  things.  Cancale 
might  be  all  very  well  for  me,  but  how 
about  the  hotel  for  him,  who  had  no- 
thing to  do,  no  pictures  to  paint  ?  He  had 
passed  that  time  in  his  life  when  he  could 
sleep  under  a  boat  with  water  pouring 
down  the  back  of  his  neck  through  a 
tarpaulin  full  of  holes. 

"  The  hotel,  messieurs  !  Imagine  !  Is 
it  posseeble  that  monsieur  imagine  for 
one  moment  that  Baader  would  arrange 
such  annoyances  ?  I  remember  ze  hotel 
quite  easily.  It  is  not  like,  of  course, 
ze  Grand  H6tel  of  Paris,  but  it  is  simple, 
clean,  ze  cuisine  superb,  and  ze  apart- 
ment fine  and  hospitable.  Remembare, 
it  is  Baader." 

36 


BAADER 

"  And  the  baths  ? "  broke  out  the 
governor  savagely. 

Baader' s  face  was  a  study ;  a  pained, 
deprecating  expression  passed  over  it  as 
he  uncovered  his  head,  his  glazed  head- 
piece glistening  in  the  sun. 

"  Baths,  monsieur  —  and  ze  water  of  ze 
sea  everywhere  ?" 

These  assurances  of  future  comfort 
were  not  overburdened  with  details, 
but  they  served  to  satisfy  and  calm  the 
governor,  I  pleading,  meanwhile,  that 
Baader  had  always  proved  himself  a  man 
of  resource,  quite  ready  when  required 
with  either  a  meal  or  an  answer. 

So  we  started  for  Cancale. 

On  the  way  our  courier  grew  more 
and  more  enthusiastic.  We  were  travel- 
ing in  a  four-seated  carriage,  Baader 
on  the  box,  pointing  out  to  us  in  Eng- 
lish, after  furtive  conversations  with  the 
driver  in  French,  the  principal  points  of 
interest.  With  many  flourishes  he  led 
us  to  Param6,  one  of  those  Normandy 
cities  which  consist  of  a  huge  hotel 
with  enormous  piazzas,  a  beach  ten 
miles  from  the  sea,  and  a  small  so-called 
fishing-village  as  a  sort  of  marine  attach- 
ment. To  give  a  realistic  touch,  a  lone 
boat  is  always  being  tarred  somewhere 
down  at  the  end  of  one  of  its  toy 
streets,  two  or  three  donkey-carts  and 
87 


BAADER 

donkeys  add  an  air  of  picturesqueness, 
and  the  usual  number  of  children  with 
red  pails  and  shovels  dig  in  the  sand  of 
the  roadside.  All  the  fish  that  are 
sold  come  from  the  next  town.  It  was 
too  early  in  the  season  when  we  reached 
there  for  girls  in  sabots  and  white  caps, 
the  tide  from  Paris  not  having  set  in. 
The  governor  hailed  it  with  delight. 
"  Why  the  devil  did  n't  you  tell  me  about 
this  place  before  ?  Here  we  have  been 
fooling  away  our  time." 

"  But  it  is  only  Parame",  monsieur," 
with  an  accent  on  the  "  only "  and  a 
lifting  of  the  hands.  "  Cancale  spe"ciale 
will  charm  you ;  ze  coast  it  is  so  im- 
mediately flat,  and  ze  life  of  ze  sea 
charmante.  Nevare  at  Param6,  always 
at  Cancale."  So  we  drove  on.  The 
governor  pacified  but  anxious  —  only  suc- 
cumbing at  my  argument  that  Baader 
knew  all  Normandy  thoroughly,  and  that 
an  old  courier  like  him  certainly  could 
be  trusted  to  select  a  hotel. 

You  all  know  the  sudden  dip  from 
the  rich,  flat  country  of  Normandy 
down  the  steep  cliffs  to  the  sea.  Can- 
cale is  like  the  rest  of  it.  The  town 
itself  stands  on  the  brink  of  a  swoop  to 
the  sands ;  the  fishing-village  proper, 
where  the  sea  packs  it  solid  in  a  great 


BAADER 

half-moon,  with  a  light  burning  on  one 
end  that  on  clear  nights  can  be  seen  as 
far  as  Mme.  Poulard's  cozy  dining-room 
at  St.  Michel. 

One  glimpse  of  this  sea-burst  tumbled 
me  out  of  the  carriage,  sketch-trap  in 
hand.  Baader  and  the  governor  kept 
on.  If  the  latter  noticed  the  discrep- 
ancy between  Baader's  description  of 
the  country  and  the  actual  topography, 
no  word  fell  from  him  at  the  moment  of 
departure. 

From  my  aerie,  as  I  worked  under  my 
white  umbrella  below  the  cliff,  I  could 
distinctly  make  out  our  traveling-car- 
riage several  hundred  feet  below  and  a 
mile  away,  crawling  along  a  road  of 
white  tape  with  a  green  selvage  of  trees, 
the  governor's  glazed  trunk  flashing 
behind,  Baader's  silk  hat  burning  in 
front.  Then  the  little  insect  stopped  at 
a  white  spot  backed  by  dots  of  green ; 
a  small  speck  broke  away,  and  was 
swallowed  up  for  a  few  minutes  in  the 
white  dot,  —  doubtless  Baader  to  parley 
for  rooms,  —  and  then  to  my  astonish- 
ment the  whole  insect  turned  and  began 
crawling  back  again,  growing  larger 
every  minute.  All  this  occurred  before 
I  had  half  finished  my  outline  or  opened 
my  color  -  box.  Instantly  the  truth 
dawned  upon  me,  —  the  governor  was 
89 


BAADER 

going  back  to  Parame.  An  hour,  per- 
haps, had  elapsed  when  Baader,  with 
uncovered  head  and  beaded  with  per- 
spiration, the  two  locks  of  hair  hanging 
limp  and  straight,  stood  before  me. 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  the  gov- 
ernor, Baader  ?  No  hotel  after  all  ? " 

"  On  the  contraire,  pardonnez-moi, 
monsieur,  a  most  excellent  hotel,  simple 
and  quite  of  ze  people,  and  with  many 
patrons.  Even  at  ze  moment  of  arrival 
a  most  distinguished  artist,  a  painter  of 
ze  Salon,  was  with  his  cognac  upon  a 
table  at  ze  entrance." 

"  No  bath,  perhaps,"  I  remarked  cas- 
ually, still  absorbed  in  my  work,  and 
with  my  mind  at  rest,  now  that  Baader 
remained  with  me. 

"  On  the  contraire,  monsieur,  les  bains 
are  most  excellent  —  primitive,  of 
course,  simple,  and* quite  of  ze  people. 
But,  monsieur  le  gouverneur  is  no  more 
young.  When  one  is  no  more  young," 
— with  a  deprecating  shrug,  —  "parbleu, 
it  is  imposseeble  to  enjoy  everything. 
Monsieur  le  gouverneur,  I  do  assure  you, 
make  ze  conclusion  most  regretfully  to 
return  to  Parame." 

I  learned  the  next  morning  that  he 

evinced  every  desire  to  drown  Baader  in 

the  surf  for  bringing  him  to  such  an 

inn,   and   was   restrained    only   by   the 

90 


BAADER 

knowledge  that  I  should  miss  his  pro- 
tection during  my  one  night  in  Cancale. 

"  Moreover,  it  is  ze  grande  fete  to- 
night —  ze  fete  of  ze  Republique.  Zare 
are  fireworks  and  illumination  and  music 
by  ze  municipality.  It  is  simple,  but 
quite  of  ze  people.  It  is  for  zis  rea- 
son that  I  made  ze  effort  special  with 
monsieur  le  gouverneur  to  remain  with 
you.  Ah!  it  is  you,  monsieur,  who 
are  so  robust,  so  enthusiastic,  so  appre- 
ciative." 

Here  Baader  put  on  his  hat,  and  I 
closed  my  sketch-trap. 

"  But  monsieur  has  not  yet  dined,"  he 
said  as  we  walked,  "  nor  even  at  his  hotel 
arrived.  Ze  inn  of  Mme.  Flamand  is 
so  very  far  away,  and  ze  ascent  up  ze 
cliffs  difficile.  If  monsieur  will  be  so 
good,  zare  is  a  cafe  near  by  where  it  is 
quite  posseeble  to  dine." 

Relieved  of  the  governor's  constant 
watchfulness  Baader  became  himself. 
He  bustled  about  the  restaurant,  called 
for  "  Cancale  speciale,"  a  variety  of 
oysters  apparently  entirely  unknown  to 
the  landlord,  and  interviewed  the  chef 
himself.  In  a  few  moments  a  table  was 
spread  in  a  corner  of  the  porch  overlook- 
ing a  garden  gay  with  hollyhocks,  and  a 
dinner  was  ordered  of  broiled  chicken, 
French  rolls,  some  radishes,  half  a  dozen 


BAADER 

apricots,  and  a  fragment  of  cheese. 
When  it  was  over,  —  Baader  had  been 
served  in  an  adjoining  apartment,  — 
there  remained  not  the  amount  men- 
tioned in  a  former  out-of-door  feast,  but 
sufficient  to  pack  at  least  one  basket,  — 
in  this  case  a  paper  box,  —  the  drum- 
sticks being  stowed  below,  dunnaged  by 
two  rolls,  and  battened  down  with  frag- 
ments of  cheese  and  three  apricots. 

"  What 's  this  for,  Baader  ?  Have  you 
not  had  enough  to  eat  ? " 

Baader's  face  wore  its  blandest  smile. 
"On  ze  contraire,  I  have  made  for  my- 
self a  most  excellent  repast ;  but  if  mon- 
sieur will  consider  —  ze  dinner  is  a  prix 
fixe,  and  monsieur  can  eat  it  all,  or  it 
shall  remain  for  ze  proprie'taire.  Zis, 
if  monsieur  will  for  one  moment  attend, 
will  be  stupid  extraordinaire.  I  have 
made  ze  investigation,  and  discover  zat 
ze  post  depart  from  Cancale  in  one  hour. 
How  simple  zen  to  affeex  ze  stamps, — 
only  five  sous,  —  and  in  ze  morning, 
even  before  Mme.  Baader  is  out  of  ze 
bed,  it  is  in  Paris — a  souvenir  from  Can- 
cale. How  charmante  ze  surprise !  " 

I  discovered  afterward  that  since  he 
had  joined  us  Baader's  own  domestic 
larder  had  been  almost  daily  enriched 
with  crumbs  like  these  from  Dives's  ta- 
ble. 

92 


BAADER 

The  f$te>  despite  Baader's  assurances, 
lacked  one  necessary  feature.  There 
was  no  music.  The  band  was  away  with 
the  boats,  the  triangle  probably  cooking, 
the  French  horn  and  clarinet  hauling 
seines. 

But  Baader,  not  to  be  outdone  by  any 
contretemps,  started  off  to  find  an  old 
blind  fellow  who  played  an  accordeon, 
collecting  five  francs  of  me  in  advance 
for  his  pay,  under  the  plea  that  it  was 
quite  horrible  that  the  young  people 
could  not  dance.  "  While  one  is  young, 
monsieur,  music  is  ze  life  of  ze  heart." 

He  brought  the  old  man  back,  and 
with  a  certain  care  and  tenderness  set 
him  down  on  a  stone  bench,  the  sight- 
less eyes  of  the  poor  peasant  turning  up 
to  the  stars  as  he  swayed  the  primitive 
instrument  back  and  forth.  The  young 
girls  clung  to  Baader's  arm,  and  blessed 
him  for  his  goodness.  I  forgave  him  his 
duplicity,  his  delight  in  their  happiness 
was  so  genuine.  Perhaps  it  was  even 
better  than  &fete. 

When,  later  in  the  evening,  we  arrived 
at  Mme.  Flamand's,  we  found  her  in  the 
doorway,  her  brown  face  smiling,  her 
white  cap  and  apron  in  full  relief  under 
the  glare  of  an  old-fashioned  ship's  light, 
which  hung  from  a  rafter  of  the  porch. 
Baader  inscribed  my  name  in  a  much- 
93 


BAADER 

thumbed,  ink -stained  register,  which 
looked  like  a  neglected  ship's  log,  and 
then  added  his  own.  This,  by  the  by, 
Baader  never  neglected.  Neither  did  he 
neglect  a  certain  little  ceremony  always 
connected  with  it. 

After  it  was  all  over  and  "  Moritz 
Baader  Courrier  et  Interpret  e  "  was  duly 
inscribed,  —  and  in  justice  it  must  be  con- 
fessed it  was  always  clearly  written  with 
a  flourish  at  the  end  that  lent  it  addi- 
tional dignity,  —  Baader  would  pause  for 
a  moment,  carefully  balance  the  pen, 
trying  it  first  on  his  thumb-nail,  and 
then  place  two  little  dots  of  ink  over  the 
first  a,  saying,  with  a  certain  wave  of 
his  hand,  as  he  did  so,  "  For  ze  honor 
of  my  families,  monsieur."  This  pecul- 
iarity gained  for  him  from  the  governor 
the  sobriquet  of  "old  fly-specks." 

The  inn  of  Mme.  Flamand,  although 
less  pretentious  than  many  others  that 
had  sheltered  us,  was  clean  and  comfort- 
able, the  lower  deck  and  companionway 
were  freshly  sanded,  —  the  whole  house 
had  a  decidedly  nautical  air  about  it,  — 
and  the  captain's  state-room  on  the  up- 
per deck,  a  second-floor  room,  was  large 
and  well-lighted,  although  the  ceiling 
might  have  been  a  trifle  too  low  for  the 
governor,  and  the  bed  a  few  inches  too 
short. 

94 


BAADER 

I  ascended  to  the  upper  deck,  pre- 
ceded by  the  hostess  carrying  the  ship's 
lantern,  now  that  the  last  guest  had  been 
housed  for  the  night.  Baader  followed 
with  a  brass  candlestick  and  a  tallow  dip 
about  the  size  of  a  lead  pencil.  With 
the  swinging  open  of  the  bedroom  door, 
I  made  a  mental  inventory  of  all  the 
conveniences  :  bed,  two  pillows,  plenty  of 
windows,  washstand,  towels.  Then  the 
all-important  question  recurred  to  me, 
Where  had  they  hidden  the  portable  tub  ? 

I  opened  the  door  of  the  locker,  looked 
behind  a  sea-chest,  then  out  of  one  win- 
dow, expecting  to  see  the  green-painted 
luxury  hanging  by  a  hook  or  drying  on 
a  convenient  roof.  In  some  surprise 
I  said :  — 

"  And  the  bath,  Baader  ?  " 

"Does  monsieur  expect  to  bathe  at 
ze  night  ? "  inquired  Baader  with  a  lift- 
ing of  his  eyebrows,  his  face  expressing 
a  certain  alarm  for  my  safety. 

"  No,  certainly  not ;  but  to-morrow, 
when  I  get  up." 

"Ah,  to-morrow!"  with  a  sigh  of 
relief.  "  I  do  assure  you,  monsieur,  zat 
it  will  be  complete.  At  ze  moment  of 
ze  deflexion  of  monsieur  le  gouverneur 
zare  was  not  ze  time.  Of  course  it  is 
imposseeble  in  Cancale  to  have  ze  grand 
bain  of  Paris,  but  then  zare  is  still 
95 


BAADER 

something,  —  a  bath  quite  special,  sim- 
ple, and  of  ze  people.  Remember,  mon- 
sieur, it  is  Baader." 

And  so,  with  a  cheery  "Bon  soir" 
from  madame,  and  a  profound  bow  from 
Baader,  I  fell  asleep. 

The  next  morning  I  was  awakened  by 
a  rumbling  in  the  lower  hold,  as  if  the 
cargo  was  being  shifted.  Then  came  a 
noise  like  the  moving  of  heavy  barrels 
on  the  upper  deck  forward  of  the  com- 
panionway.  The  next  instant  my  door 
was  burst  open,  and  in  stalked  two 
brawny,  big-armed  fish-girls,  yarn-stock- 
inged to  their  knees,  and  with  white 
sabots  and  caps.  They  were  trundling 
the  lower  half  of  a  huge  hogshead. 

"Pour  le  bain,  monsieur,"  they  both 
called  out,  bursting  into  laughter,  as 
they  rolled  the  mammoth  tub  behind  my 
bed,  grounded  it  with  a  revolving  whirl, 
as  a  juggler  would  spin  a  plate,  and  dis- 
appeared, slamming  the  door  behind 
them,  their  merriment  growing  fainter 
as  they  dropped  down  the  companion- 
way. 

I  peered  over  the  head-board,  and  dis- 
covered the  larger  half  of  an  enormous 
storage-barrel  used  for  packing  fish, 
with  fresh  saw-marks  indenting  its 
upper  rim.  Then  I  shouted  for  Baader. 

Before  anybody  answered,  there  came 
96 


BAADER 

another  onslaught,  and  in  burst  the 
same  girls,  carrying  a  great  iron  beach- 
kettle  filled  with  water.  This,  with  re- 
newed fits  of  laughter,  they  dashed  into 
the  tub,  and  in  a  flash  were  off  again, 
their  wooden  sabots  clattering  down  the 
steps. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  indica- 
tions ;  Baader's  bath  had  arrived. 

I  climbed  up,  and,  dropping  in  with 
both  feet,  avoiding  the  splinters  and  the 
nails,  sat  on  the  sawed  edge,  ready  for 
total  immersion.  Before  I  could  adjust 
myself  to  its  conditions  there  came 
another  rush  along  the  companionway, 
accompanied  by  the  same  clatter  of 
sabots  and  splashing  of  water.  There 
was  no  time  to  reach  the  bed,  and  it 
was  equally  evident  that  I  could  not 
vault  out  and  throw  myself  against  the 
door.  So  I  simply  ducked  down,  held 
on,  and  shouted,  in  French,  Normandy 
patois,  English :  — 

"Don't  come  in  !  Don't  open  the 
door!  Leave  the  water  outside!"  and 
the  like.  I  might  as  well  have  ruined 
my  throat  on  a  Cancale  lugger  driving 
before  a  gale.  In  burst  the  door,  and 
in  swept  the  Amazons,  letting  go 
another  kettleful,  this  time  over  my 
upper  half,  my  lower  half  being  squeezed 
down  into  the  tub. 

97 


BAADER 

When  the  girls  had  emptied  the  con- 
tents of  this  last  kettle  over  the  edge, 
and  caught  sight  of  my  face,  —  they  evi- 
dently thought  I  was  still  behind  the 
head-board,  — both  gave  one  prolonged 
shriek  that  literally  roused  the  house. 
The  brawnier  of  the  two,  —  a  magnifi- 
cent creature,  with  her  corsets  outside 
of  her  dress,  —  after  holding  her  sides 
with  laughter  until  I  thought  she  would 
suffocate,  sank  upon  the  sea-chest,  from 
which  her  companion  rescued  her  just 
as  Mme.  Flamand  and  Baader  opened 
the  door.  All  this  time  my  chin  was 
resting  on  the  jagged  rim  of  the  tub, 
and  my  teeth  were  chattering. 

"  Baader,  where  in  thunder  have  you 
been  ?  Drag  that  chest  against  that 
door  quick,  and  come  in.  Is  this  what 
you  call  a  bath  ? " 

"  Monsieur,  if  you  will  pardon.  I 
arouse  myself  at  ze  daylight ;  I  rely 
upon  Mme.  Flamand  that  ze  English- 
man who  is  dead  had  left  one  behind; 
I  search  everywhere.  Zen  I  make  in- 
quiry of  ze  mother  of  ze  two  demoi- 
selles who  have  just  gone.  She  was 
much  insulted ;  she  make  ze  bad  face. 
She  say  with  much  indignation  :  '  Mon- 
sieur, since  I  was  a  baby  ze  water  has 
not  touched  my  body.'  At  ze  supreme 
moment,  when  all  hope  was  gone,  I  dis- 
98 


BAADER 

cover  near  ze  house  of  ze  same  madame 
this  grand  arrangement.  Immediately 
I  am  on  fire,  and  say  to  myself,  *  Baader, 
all  is  not  lost.  Even  if  zare  was  still 
ze  bath  of  ze  Englishman,  it  would 
not  compare.'  In  ze  quickness  of  an 
eye  I  bring  a  saw,  and  ze  demoiselles 
are  on  zare  knees  making  ze  arrange- 
ment, one  part  big,  one  small.  I  say 
to  myself,  '  Baader,  monsieur  is  an 
artist,  and  of  enthusiasm,  and  will  ap- 
preciate zis  utensile  agreable  of  ze  fish- 
erman.' If  monsieur  will  consider,  it 
is,  of  course,  not  ze  grand  bain  of 
Paris,  but  it  is  simple,  and  quite  of  ze 
people." 

Some  two  months  later,  the  governor 
and  I  happened  to  be  strolling  through 
the  flower  -  market  of  the  Madeleine. 
He  had  been  selecting  plants  for  the 
windows  of  his  apartment,  and  needed 
a  reliable  man  to  arrange  them  in  suita- 
ble boxes. 

"  That  fellow  Baader  lives  down  here 
somewhere ;  perhaps  he  might  know  of 
some  one,"  he  said,  consulting  his  note- 
book. "Yes;  No.  21  Rue  Chambord. 
Let  us  look  him  up." 

In  five  minutes  we  stood  before  a 
small,  two-story  house,  with  its  door  and 
wide  basement-window  protected  by  an 
99 


BAADER 

awning.  Beneath  this,  upon  low 
shelves,  was  arranged  a  collection  of 
wicker  baskets,  containing  the  several 
varieties  of  oysters  from  Normandy  and 
Brittany  coasts  greatly  beloved  by  Pari- 
sian epicures  of  Paris.  On  the  top  of 
each  lid  lay  a  tin  sign  bearing  the  name 
of  the  exact  locality  from  which  each 
toothsome  bivalve  was  supposed  to  be 
shipped.  These  signs  were  all  of  one 
size. 

The  governor  is  a  great  lover  of 
oysters,  especially  his  own  Chesapeakes, 
and  his  eye  ran  rapidly  over  the  tempt- 
ing exhibit  as  he  read  aloud,  perhaps, 
unconsciously,  to  himself,  the  several 
labels :  "  Dinard,  Parame,  Dieppe  petite, 
Cancale  sp6ciale."  Then  a  new  light 
seemed  to  break  in  upon  him. 

"Dieppe  petite,  Cancale  speciale,"  — 
here  his  face  was  a  study,  —  "  why, 
that 's  what  Baader  always  called  Can- 
cale. By  thunder  !  I  believe  that 's 
where  that  fellow  got  his  names.  I 
don't  believe  the  rascal  was  ever  in 
Normandy  in  his  life  until  I  took  him. 
Here,  landlord  ! "  A  small  shop-keeper, 
wearing  an  apron,  ran  out  smiling,  un- 
covering the  baskets  as  he  approached. 
"  Do  you  happen  to  know  a  courier  by 
the  name  of  Baader  ?  " 

"  Never    as     courier,     messieurs  — 

100 


BAADER 

always  as  commissionaire ;  he  sells 
wood  and  charcoal  to  ze  hotels.  See ! 
zare  is  his  sign." 

"  Where  does  he  live  ? " 

"  Upstairs." 

101 


THE   LADY  OF   LUCERNE 


ABOVE  the  Schweizerhof  Hotel, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  long  walk 
fronting  the  lake  at  Lucerne,  —  the  walk 
studded  with  the  round,  dumpy,  Noah's- 
ark  trees,  —  stands  a  great  building  sur- 
rounded by  flowers  and  palms,  and  at 
night  ablaze  with  hundreds  of  lamps 
hung  in  festoons  of  blue,  yellow,  and 
red.  This  is  the  Casino.  On  each  side 
of  the  wide  entrance  is  a  bill-board,  an- 
nouncing that  some  world-renowned 
Tyrolean  warbler,  famous  acrobat,  or 
marvelous  juggler  will  sing  or  tumble 
or  bewilder,  the  price  of  admission  re- 
maining the  same,  despite  the  enormous 
sum  paid  for  the  appearance  of  the  per- 
former. 

Inside  this  everybody's  club  is  a  cafe, 
with  hurrying  waiters  and  a  solid  brass 
band,  and  opening  from  its  smoke  and 
absinthe  laden  interior  blazes  a  small 
theatre,  with  stage  footlights  and  scen- 
ery, where  the  several  world-renowned 
102 


THE  LADY  OF   LUCERNE 

artists  redeem  at  a  very  considerable 
discount  the  promissory  notes  of  the 
bill-boards  outside. 

During  the  performance  the  audience 
smoke  and  sip.  Between  the  acts  most 
of  them  swarm  out  into  the  adjacent 
corridors  leading  to  the  gaming-rooms, 
—  licensed  rooms  these,  with  toy-horses 
ridden  by  tin  jockeys,  and  another 
equally  delusive  and  tempting  device  of 
the  devil  —  a  game  of  tipsy  marbles,  roll- 
ing about  in  search  of  sunken  saucers 
emblazoned  with  the  arms  of  the  nations 
of  the  earth.  These  whirligigs  of  am- 
ateur crime  are  constantly  surrounded 
by  eager-eyed  men  and  women,  who  try 
their  luck  for  the  amusement  of  the  mo- 
ment, or  by  broken-down,  seedy  gam- 
blers, hazarding  their  last  coin  for  a  turn 
of  fortune.  Now  and  then,  too,  some 
sweet-faced  girl,  her  arm  in  her  father's, 
wins  a  louis  with  a  franc,  her  childish 
laughter  ringing  out  in  the  stifling  at- 
mosphere. 

The  Tyrolean  warbler  had  just  fin- 
ished her  high-keyed  falsetto,  bowing 
backward  in  her  short  skirts  and  stout 
shoes  with  silver  buckles,  and  I  had  just 
reached  the  long  corridor  on  my  way  to 
the  garden,  to  escape  the  blare  and 
pound  of  the  band,  when  a  man  leaned 
103 


THE  LADY   OF  LUCERNE 

out  of  a  half-opened  door  and  touched 
my  shoulder. 

"  Pardon,  monsieur.  May  I  speak  to 
you  a  moment  ?  " 

He  was  a  short,  thick-set,  smooth- 
shaven,  greasy  man,  dressed  plainly  in 
black,  with  a  huge  emerald  pin  in  his 
shirt  front.  I  have  never  had  any  par- 
ticular use  for  a  man  with  an  emerald 
pin  in  his  shirt  front. 

"  There  will  be  a  game  of  baccarat," 
he  continued  in  a  low  voice,  his  eyes 
glancing  about  furtively,  "at  eleven 
o'clock  precisely.  Knock  twice  at  this 
door." 

Old  habitu6s  of  Lucerne  —  habitues  of 
years,  men  who  never  cross  the  Alps 
without  at  least  a  day's  stroll  under  the 
Noah's-ark  trees,  —  will  tell  you  over 
their  •  coffee  that  since  the  opening  of 
the  St.  Gotthard  Tunnel  this  half-way 
house  of  Lucerne  —  this  oasis  between 
Paris  and  Rome  —  has  sheltered  most 
of  the  adventurers  of  Europe ;  that  under 
these  same  trees,  and  on  these  very 
benches,  nihilists  have  sat  and  plotted, 
refugees  and  outlaws  have  talked  in  whis- 
pers, and  adventuresses,  with  jeweled 
stilettos  tucked  in  their  bosoms,  have 
lain  in  wait  for  fresher  victims. 

I  had  never  in  my  wanderings  met 
any  of  these  mysterious  and  delightful 
104 


THE   LADY   OF   LUCERNE 

people.  And,  strange  to  say,  I  had  never 
seen  a  game  of  baccarat.  This  might  be 
my  opportunity.  I  would  see  the  game 
and  perhaps  run  across  some  of  these 
curious  individuals.  I  consulted  my 
watch  ;  there  was  half  an  hour  yet.  The 
man  was  a  runner,  of  course,  for  this  un- 
derground, unlicensed  gaming-house,  who 
had  picked  me  out  as  a  possible  victim. 

When  the  moment  arrived  I  knocked 
at  the  door. 

It  was  opened,  not  by  the  greasy  Jack- 
in-the-box  with  the  emerald  pin,  but  by  a 
deferential  old  man,  who  looked  at  me 
for  a  moment,  holding  the  door  with  his 
foot.  Then  gently  closing  it,  he  pre- 
ceded me  across  a  hall  and  up  a  long 
staircase.  At  the  top  was  a  passage- 
way and  another  door,  and  behind  this 
a  large  room  paneled  in  dark  wood.  On 
one  side  of  this  apartment  was  a  high 
desk.  Here  sat  the  cashier  counting 
money,  and  arranging  little  piles  of 
chips  of  various  colors.  In  the  centre 
stood  a  table  covered  with  black  cloth  : 
I  had  always  supposed  such  tables  to  be 
green.  About  it  were  seated  ten  people, 
the  croupier  in  the  middle.  The  game 
had  already  begun.  I  moved  up  a  chair, 
saying  that  I  would  look  on,  but  not 
play. 

Had  the  occasion  been  a  clinic,  the 
105 


THE   LADY   OF  LUCERNE 

game  a  corpse,  and  the  croupier  the 
operating  surgeon,  the  group  about  the 
table  could  not  have  been  more  absorbed 
or  more  silent;  a  cold,  death-like,  omi- 
nous stillness  that  seemed  to  saturate 
the  very  air.  The  only  sounds  were  the 
occasional  clickings  of  the  ivory  chips, 
like  the  chattering  of  teeth,  and  the  mon- 
otones of  the  croupier  announcing  the 
results  of  the  play  : — 

"  Faites  vos  jeux.  Le  jeu  est  fait ; 
rien  ne  va  plus." 

I  began  to  study  the  personnel  of  this 
clinic  of  chance. 

Two  Englishmen  in  evening  dress  sat 
side  by  side,  never  speaking,  scarcely 
moving,  their  eyes  riveted  on  the  falling 
cards  flipped  from  the  croupier's  hands. 
A  coarse-featured,  oily-skinned  woman 
—  a  Russian,  I  thought  —  looked  on 
calmly,  resting  her  head  on  her  palm. 
A  man  in  a  gray  suit,  with  waxy  face 
and  watery,  yellow  eyes,  made  paper 
pills,  rolling  them  slowly  between  thumb 
and  forefinger  —  his  features  as  immo- 
bile as  a  death  -  mask.  A  blue  -  eyed, 
blond  German  officer,  with  a  decoration 
on  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  nonchalantly 
twirled  his  mustache,  his  shoulders 
straining  in  tension.  A  Parisienne,  with 
bleached  hair  and  penciled  eyebrows, 
leaned  over  her  companion's  arm. 
1 06 


THE  LADY   OF   LUCERNE 

There  was  also  a  flashily  dressed  negro, 
evidently  a  Haytian,  who  sat  motionless 
at  the  far  end,  as  stolid  as  a  boiler,  only 
the  steam-gauge  of  his  eyes  denoting  the 
pressure  beneath. 

No  one  spoke,  no  one  laughed. 

Two  of  the  group  interested  me  at 
once,  —  the  croupier  and  a  woman  who 
sat  within  three  feet  of  me. 

The  croupier,  who  was  in  evening 
dress,  might  have  been  of  any  age  from 
thirty  to  fifty.  His  eyes  were  deep-set 
and  glassy,  like  those  of  a  consumptive. 
His  hair  was  jet-black,  his  face  clean- 
shaven ;  the  skin,  not  ivory,  but  a  dirty 
white,  and  flabby,  like  the  belly  of  a  toad. 
His  thin  and  bloodless  lips  were  flattened 
over  a  row  of  pure  white  teeth  with  glis- 
tening specks  of  gold  that  opened  when 
he  smiled ;  closing  again  slowly  like  an 
automaton's.  His  shrunken,  colorless 
hands  lay  on  the  black  cloth  like  huge 
white  spiders;  their  long,  thin  legs  of 
fingers  turned  up  at  the  tips  —  stealthy, 
creeping  fingers.  Sometimes,  too,  in 
their  nervous  workings,  they  drooped 
together  like  a  bunch  of  skeleton  keys. 
On  one  of  these  lock  picks  he  wore  a 
ring  studded  alternately  with  diamonds 
and  rubies. 

The  cards  seemed  to  know  these  fin- 
gers, fluttering  about  them,  or  light- 
ro; 


THE   LADY  OF   LUCERNE 

ing  noiselessly  at  their  bidding  on  the 
cloth. 

When  the  bank  won,  the  croupier  per- 
mitted a  slight  shade  of  disappointment 
to  flash  over  his  face,  fading  into  an  ex- 
pression of  apology  for  taking  the  stakes. 
When  the  bank  lost,  the  lips  parted 
slowly,  showing  the  teeth,  in  a  half  smile. 
Such  delicate  outward  consideration  for 
the  feelings  of  his  victims  seemed  a  part 
of  his  education,  an  index  to  his  natural 
refinement. 

The  woman  was  of  another  type.  Al- 
though she  sat  with  her  back  to  me,  I 
could  catch  her  profile  when  she  pushed 
her  long  veil  from  her  face.  She  was 
dressed  entirely  in  black.  She  had  been, 
and  was  still,  a  woman  of  marked  beauty, 
with  an  air  of  high  breeding  which  was 
unmistakable.  Her  features  were  clean- 
cut  and  refined,  her  mouth  and  nose 
delicately  shaped.  Her  forehead  was 
shaded  by  waves  of  brown  hair  which 
half  covered  her  ears.  The  eyes  were 
large  and  softened  by  long  lashes,  the 
lids  red  as  if  with  recent  weeping.  Her 
only  ornament  was  a  plain  gold  ring, 
worn  on  her  left  hand.  Outwardly,  she 
was  the  only  person  in  the  room  who 
betrayed  by  her  manner  any  vital  inter- 
est in  the  game. 

There  are  some  faces  that  once  seen 
108 


THE   LADY   OF   LUCERNE 

haunt  you  forever  afterward  —  faces  with 
masks  so  thinly  worn  that  you  look 
through  into  the  heart  below.  Hers  was 
one  of  these.  Every  light  and  shadow 
of  hope  and  disappointment  that  crossed 
it  showed  only  the  clearer  the  intensity 
of  her  mental  strain,  and  the  bitterness 
of  her  anxiety. 

Once  when  she  lost  she  bit  her  lips  so 
deeply  that  a  speck  of  blood  tinged  her 
handkerchief.  The  next  instant  she  was 
clutching  her  winnings  with  almost  the 
ferocity  of  a  hungry  animal.  Then  she 
leaned  back  a  moment  later  exhausted 
in  her  chair,  her  face  thrown  up,  her 
eyes  closing  wearily. 

In  her  hand  she  held  a  small  chamois 
bag  filled  with  gold;  when  her  chips 
were  exhausted  she  would  rise  silently, 
float  like  a  shadow  to  the  desk,  lay  a 
handful  of  gold  from  the  bag  upon  the 
counter,  sweep  the  ivories  into  her  hand, 
and  noiselessly  regain  her  seat.  She 
seemed  to  know  no  one,  and  no  one  to 
know  her,  unless  it  might  have  been  the 
croupier,  who,  I  thought,  watched  her 
closely  when  he  pushed  over  her  win- 
nings, parting  his  lips  a  little  wider,  his 
smile  a  trifle  more  cringing  and  dev- 
ilish. 

At  twelve  o'clock  she  was  still  playing, 
her  face  like  chalk,  her  eyes  bloodshot, 
109 


THE   LADY   OF   LUCERNE 

her  teeth  clenched  fast,  her  hair  dishev- 
eled across  her  face. 

The  game  went  on. 

When  the  clock  reached  the  half-hour 
the  man  in  gray  pushed  back  his  chair, 
gathered  up  his  winnings,  and  moved  to 
the  door,  an  attendant  handing  him  his 
hat.  With  the  exception  of  the  Parisi- 
enne,  who  had  gone  some  time  before, 
taking  her  companion  with  her,  the  dev- 
otees were  the  same,  —  the  two  English- 
men still  exchanging  clean,  white  Bank 
of  England  notes,  the  German  and  Hay- 
tian  losing,  but  calm  as  mummies,  the 
fat,  oily  woman,  melting  like  a  red  can- 
dle, the  perspiration  streaming  down  her 
face. 

Suddenly  I  heard  a  convulsive  gasp. 
The  woman  in  black  was  on  her  feet 
leaning  over  the  table.  Her  eyes  blazed 
in  a  frenzy  of  delight.  She  was  sweeping 
into  her  open  hands  the  piles  of  gold 
before  her.  By  some  marvelous  stroke 
of  luck,  and  with  almost  her  last  louis, 
she  had  won  every  franc  on  the  cloth ! 

Then  she  drew  herself  up  defiantly, 
covered  her  face  with  her  veil,  hugged 
the  money  to  her  breast,  and  staggered 
from  the  room. 

no 


THE  LADY   OF  LUCERNE 


II 

So  deep  an  impression  had  the  gam- 
bling scene  of  the  night  before  made 
upon  me  that  the  next  morning  I  loi- 
tered under  the  Noah's-ark  trees,  hop- 
ing I  might  identify  the  woman,  and  in 
some  impossible,  improbable  way  know 
more  of  her  history.  I  even  lounged 
into  the  Casino,  tried  the  door  at  which 
I  had  knocked  the  night  before,  and, 
finding  it  locked  and  the  scrubwoman 
suspicious,  strolled  out  carelessly  into 
the  garden,  and,  sitting  down  under  the 
palms,  tried  to  pick  out  the  windows 
that  opened  into  the  gaming-room.  But 
they  were  all  alike,  with  pots  of  flowers 
blooming  in  each. 

Still  burdened  with  these  memories,  I 
entered  the  church,  —  the  old  church 
with  square  towers  and  deep-receding 
entrance,  that  stands  on  the  crest  of  a 
steep  hill  overlooking  the  Casino,  and 
within  a  short  distance  of  the  Noah's-ark 
trees.  Every  afternoon,  near  the  hour 
of  twilight,  when  the  shadows  reach 
down  Mount  Pilatus,  and  the  mists 
gather  in  the  valley,  a  broken  procession 
of  strollers,  in  twos  and  threes  and  larger 
groups,  slowly  climb  its  path.  They  are 
in 


THE   LADY   OF   LUCERNE 

on  their  way  to  hear  the  great  organ 
played. 

The  audience  was  already  seated.  It 
was  at  the  moment  of  that  profound 
hush  which  precedes  the  recital.  Even 
my  footfall,  light  as  it  was,  reechoed  to 
the  groined  arches.  The  church  was 
ghostly  dark,  —  so  dark  that  the  hun- 
dreds of  heads  melted  into  the  mass  of 
pews,  and  they  into  the  gloom  of  column 
and  wall.  The  only  distinguishable 
gleam  was  the  soft  glow  of  the  dying 
day  struggling  through  the  lower  panes 
of  the  dust-begrimed  windows.  Against 
these  hung  long  chains  holding  un- 
lighted  lamps. 

I  felt  my  way  to  an  empty  pew  on  a 
side  aisle,  and  sat  down.  The  silence 
continued.  Now  and  again  there  was  a 
slight  cough,  instantly  checked.  Once 
a  child  dropped  a  book,  the  echoes  last- 
ing apparently  for  minutes.  The  dark- 
ness became  almost  black  night.  Only 
the  clean,  new  panes  of  glass  used  in 
repairing  some  break  in  the  begrimed 
windows  showed  clear.  These  seemed 
to  hang  out  like  small  square  lanterns. 

Suddenly  I  was  aware  that  the  still- 
ness was  broken  by  a  sound  faint  as  a  sigh, 
delicate  as  the  first  breath  of  a  storm. 
Then  came  a  great  sweep  growing  louder, 
the  sweep  of  deep  thunder  tones  with 

112 


THE   LADY  OF   LUCERNE 

the  roar  of  the  tempest,  the  rush  of  the 
mighty  rain,  the  fury  of  the  avalanche, 
the  voices  of  the  birds  singing  in  the 
sunlight,  the  gurgle  of  the  brooks,  and 
the  soft  cadence  of  the  angelus  calling 
the  peasants  to  prayers.  Then,  a  pause 
and  another  burst  of  melody,  ending 
in  profound  silence,  as  if  the  door  of 
heaven  had  been  opened  and  as  quickly 
shut.  Then  a  clear  voice  springing  into 
life,  singing  like  a  lark,  rising,  swelling 
—  up  —  up  —  filling  the  church  —  the 
roof  —  the  sky  !  Then  the  heavenly 
door  thrown  wide,  and  the  melody  pour- 
ing out  in  a  torrent,  drowning  the  voice. 
Then  above  it  all,  while  I  sat  quivering, 
there  soared  like  a  bird  in  the  air,  sing- 
ing as  it  flew,  one  great,  superb,  vibrat- 
ing, resolute  note,  pure,  clear,  full,  sen- 
suous, untrammeled,  dominating  the 
heavens :  not  human,  not  divine ;  like 
no  woman's,  like  no  man's,  like  no  angel's 
ever  dreamed  of,  —  the  vox  humana. 

It  did  not  awaken  in  me  any  feeling 
of  reverence  or  religious  ecstasy.  I  only 
remember  that  the  music  took  posses- 
sion of  my  soul.  That  beneath  and 
through  it  all  I  felt  the  vibrations  of  all 
the  tragic  things  that  come  to  men  and 
women  in  their  lives.  Scenes  from  out 
an  irrelevant  past  swept  across  my 
mind.  I  heard  again  the  long  winding 
"3 


THE   LADY   OF   LUCERNE 

note  of  the  bugle  echoing  through  the 
pines,  the  dead  in  uneven  rows,  the 
moon  lighting  their  faces.  I  caught 
once  more  the  cry  of  the  girl  my  friend 
loved,  he  who  died  and  never  knew.  I 
saw  the  quick  plunge  of  the  strong 
swimmer,  white  arms  clinging  to  his 
neck,  and  heard  once  more  that  joyous 
shout  from  a  hundred  throats.  And  I 
could  still  hear  the  hoarse  voice  of  the 
captain  with  drenched  book  and  flicker- 
ing lantern,  and  shivered  again  as  I 
caught  the  dull  splash  of  the  sheeted 
body  dropping  into  the  sea. 

The  vox  humana  stopped,  not  gradu- 
ally, but  abruptly,  as  if  the  heart  had 
broken  and  its  life  had  gone  out  in 
the  one  supreme  effort.  Then  silence, 
—  a  silence  so  profound  that  a  low  sob 
from  the  pew  across  the  aisle  startled 
me.  I  strained  my  eyes,  and  caught 
the  outlines  of  a  woman  heavily  veiled. 
I  could  see,  too,  a  child  beside  her,  his 
head  on  her  shoulder.  The  boy  was 
bare-headed,  his  curls  splashed  over  her 
black  dress.  Then  another  sob,  half 
smothered,  as  if  the  woman  were  stran- 
gling. 

No  other  sound  broke  the  stillness; 
only  the  feeling  everywhere  of  pent-up, 
smothered  sighs. 

In  this  intense  moment  a  faint  foot- 
114 


THE  LADY   OF  LUCERNE 

fall  was  heard  approaching  from  the 
church  door,  walking  in  the  gloom.  It 
proved  to  be  that  of  an  old  man,  bent 
and  trembling.  He  came  slowly  down 
the  sombre  church,  with  unsteady, 
shambling  gait,  holding  in  one  hand  a 
burning  taper,  —  a  mere  speck.  In  the 
other  he  carried  a  rude  lantern,  its 
wavering  light  hovering  about  his  feet. 
As  he  passed  in  his  long  brown  cloak,  the 
swaying  light  encircled  his  white  beard 
and  hair  with  a  fluffy  halo.  He  moved 
slowly,  the  spark  he  carried  no  larger 
than  a  firefly.  The  sacristan  had  come 
to  light  the  candles. 

He  stopped  half  way  down  the  middle 
aisle,  opposite  a  pew,  the  faint  flush  of 
his  lantern  falling  on  the  nearest  up- 
turned face.  A  long  thin  candle  was 
fastened  to  this  pew.  The  firefly  of  a 
taper,  held  aloft  in  his  trembling  hand, 
flickered  uncertainly  like  a  moth,  and 
rested  on  the  top  of  this  candle.  Then 
the  wick  kindled  and  burned.  As  its 
rays  felt  their  way  over  the  vast  interior, 
struggling  up  into  the  dark  roof,  reach- 
ing the  gilded  ornaments  on  the  side 
altar  enshrouded  in  gloom,  glinting  on 
the  silver  of  the  hanging  lamps,  a  plain- 
tive note  fluttered  softly,  swelled  into 
an  ecstasy  of  sound,  and  was  lost  in  a 
chorus  of  angel  voices. 


THE   LADY   OF   LUCERNE 

The  sacristan  moved  down  the  aisle, 
kindled  two  other  candles  on  the  distant 
altar,  and  was  lost  in  the  shadows. 

-The  woman  in  the  pew  across  the 
aisle  bent  forward,  resting  her  head  on 
the  back  of  the  seat  in  front,  drawing 
the  child  to  her.  The  boy  cuddled 
closer.  As  she  turned,  a  spark  of  light 
trickled  down  her  cheek.  I  caught 
sight  of  the  falling  tear,  but  could  not 
see  the  face. 

The  music  ceased ;  the  last  anthem 
had  been  played ;  a  gas-jet  flared  in  the 
organ-loft ;  the  people  began  to  rise  from 
their  seats.  The  sacristan  appeared 
again  from  behind  the  altar,  and  walked 
slowly  down  the  side  aisle,  carrying  only 
his  lantern.  As  he  neared  my  seat  the 
woman  stood  erect,  and  passed  out  of 
the  pew,  her  hand  caressing  the  child. 
Surely  I  could  not  be  mistaken  about 
that  movement,  the  slow,  undulating, 
rhythmic  walk,  the  floating  shadow  of 
the  night  before.  Certainly  not  with 
the  light  of  the  sacristan's  lantern  now 
full  on  her  face.  Yes  :  the  same  finely 
chiseled  features,  the  same  waves  of 
brown  hair,  the  same  eyes,  the  same 
drooping  eyelids,  like  blossoms  wet  with 
dew  !  At  last  I  had  found  her. 

I  walked  behind,  —  so  close  that  I 
could  have  laid  my  hand  on  her  boy's 
116 


THE    LADY   OF  LUCERNE 

head,  or  touched  her  hand  as  it  lay 
buried  in  his  curls.  The  old,  bent  sac- 
ristan stepped  in  front,  swinging  his 
lantern,  the  ghostly  shadows  wavering 
about  his  feet.  Then  he  halted  to  let 
the  crowd  clear  the  main  aisle. 

As  he  stood  still,  the  woman  drew 
suddenly  back  as  if  stunned  by  a  blow, 
clutched  the  boy  to  her  side,  and  fixed 
her  eyes  on  the  lantern's  ghostly  shad- 
ows. I  leaned  over  quickly.  The  glow 
of  the  rude 'lamp,  with  its  squares  of 
waving  light  flecking  the  stone  flagging, 
traced  in  unmistakable  outlines  the  form 
of  a  cross ! 

For  some  minutes  she  stood  as  if  in  a 
trance,  her  eyes  fastened  upon  the  float- 
ing shadow,  her  whole  form  trembling, 
bent,  her  body  swaying.  Only  when 
the  sacristan  moved  a  few  paces  ahead 
to  hold  open  the  swinging  door,  and  the 
shadow  of  the  cross  faded,  did  she  awake 
from  the  spell. 

Then,  recovering  herself  slowly,  she 
bowed  reverently,  crossed  herself,  drew 
the  boy  closer,  and,  with  his  hand  in 
hers,  passed  out  into  the  cool  starlit 
night. 

117 


THE   LADY   OF   LUCERNE 


III 

The  following  morning  I  was  sitting 
under  the  Noah's-ark  trees,  watching 
the  people  pass  and  repass,  when  a  man 
in  a  suit  of  white  flannel,  carrying  a 
light  cane,  and  wearing  a  straw  hat 
with  a  red  band,  and  a  necktie  to  match, 
stopped  a  flower-girl  immediately  in 
front  of  me,  and  affixed  an  additional 
dot  of  blood-color  to  his  buttonhole. 

In  the  glare  of  the  daylight  he  was 
even  more  yellow  than  when  under  the 
blaze  of  the  gas-jets.  His  eyes  were 
still  glassy  and  brilliant,  but  the  rims 
showed  red,  as  if  for  want  of  sleep,  and 
beneath  the  lower  lids  lay  sunken  half- 
circles  of  black.  He  moved  with  his 
wonted  precision,  but  without  that  ex- 
treme gravity  of  manner  which  had  char- 
acterized him  the  night  of  the  game. 
Looked  at  as  a  mere  passer-by,  he  would 
have  impressed  you  as  a  rather  debonair, 
overdressed  habitue,  who  was  enjoying 
his  morning  stroll  under  the  trees,  with- 
out other  purpose  in  life  than  the 
breathing  of  the  cool  air  and  enjoyment 
of  the  attendant  exercise.  His  spider- 
ship  had  doubtless  seen  me  when  he 
entered  the  walk,  —  I  was  still  an  un- 
trapped  fly,  —  and  had  picked  out  this 
118 


THE   LADY   OF   LUCERNE 

particular  flower-girl  beside  me  as  a  safe 
anchorage  for  one  end  of  his  web.  I 
turned  away  ray  head ;  but  it  was  too 
late. 

"  Monsieur  did  not  play  last  night  ? " 
the  croupier  asked  deferentially. 

"No;  I  did  not  know  the  game." 
Then  an  idea  struck  me.  "  Sit  down ; 
I  want  to  talk  to  you."  He  touched  the 
edge  of  his  hat  with  one  ringer,  opened 
a  gold  cigarette-case  studded  with  jew- 
els, offered  me  its  contents,  and  took  the 
seat  beside  me. 

"  Pardon  the  abruptness  of  the  in- 
quiry, but  who  was  the  woman  in 
black  ? "  I  asked. 

He  looked  at  me  curiously. 

"Ah,  you  mean  madame  with  the 
bag?" 

"Yes." 

"She  was  once  the  Baroness  Fron- 
tignac." 

"  Was  once  !     What  is  she  now  ?  " 

"Now?  Ah,  that  is  quite  a  story." 
He  stopped,  shut  the  gold  case  with  a 
click,  and  leaned  forward,  flicking  the 
pebbles  with  the  point  of  his  cane.  "  If 
madame  had  had  a  larger  bag  she  might 
have  broken  the  bank.  Is  it  not  so?" 

"  You  know  her,  then  ? "   I  persisted. 

"  Monsieur,  men  of  my  profession 
know  everybody.  Sooner  or  later  they 
119 


THE   LADY   OF   LUCERNE 

all  come  to  us —  when  they  are  young, 
and  their  francs  have  wings  ;  when  they 
are  gray  -  haired  and  cautious  ;  when 
they  are  old  and  foolish." 

"  But  she  did  not  look  like  a  gambler," 
I  replied  stiffly. 

He  smiled  his  old  cynical,  treacher- 
ous smile. 

"  Monsieur  is  pleased  to  be  very  pro- 
nounced in  his  language.  A  gambler  ! 
Monsieur  no  doubt  means  to  say  that 
madame  has  not  the  appearance  of  be- 
ing under  the  intoxication  of  the  play." 
Then  with  a  positive  tone,  still  flicking 
the  pebbles,  "The  baroness  played  for 
love." 

"  Of  the  cards  ? "  I  asked  persistently. 
I  was  determined  to  drive  the  nail  to 
the  head. 

The  croupier  looked  at  me  fixedly, 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  laughed  between 
his  teeth,  a  little,  hissing  laugh  that 
sounded  like  escaping  steam,  and  said 
slowly  :  — 

"No;  of  a  man." 

Then,  noticing  my  increasing  interest, 
"  Monsieur  would  know  something  of 
madame  ? " 

He  held  up  his  hand,  and  began  crook- 
ing one  finger  after  another  as  he  re- 
counted her  history.  These  bent  keys, 
it  seemed,  unlocked  secrets  as  well. 

120 


THE  LADY  OF  LUCERNE 

"  Le  voila  !  the  drama  of  Madame  la 
Baronne !  The  play  opens  when  she  is 
first  a  novice  in  the  convent  of  Saint 
Ursula,  devoted  to  good  works  and  the 
church.  Next  you  find  her  a  grand 
dame  and  rich,  the  wife  of  Baron  Al- 
phonse  de  Frontignac,  first  secretary  of 
legation  at  Vienna.  Then  a  mother  with 
one  child,  —  a  boy,  now  six  or  seven 
years  old,  who  is  hardly  ever  out  of  her 
arms."  He  stopped,  toyed  for  a  moment 
with  his  match-safe,  slipped  it  into  his 
pocket,  and  said  carelessly,  "  So  much 
for  Act  I." 

Then,  after  a  pause  during  which  he 
traced  again  little  diagrams  in  the  gravel, 
he  said  suddenly  :  — 

"Does  this  really  interest  you,  mon- 
sieur ? " 

"  Unquestionably." 

"  You  know  her,  then  ? "  This  with 
a  glance  of  suspicion  as  keen  as  it  was 
unexpected  by  me. 

"  Never  saw  her  in  my  life  before,"  I 
answered  frankly,  "and  never  shall  again. 
I  leave  for  Paris  to-day,  and  sail  from 
Havre  on  Saturday." 

He  drew  in  the  point  of  his  cane, 
looked  me  all  over  with  one  of  those 
comprehensive  sweeps  of  the  eye,  as  if 
he  would  read  my  inmost  thought,  and 
then,  with  an  expression  of  confidence 
121 


THE   LADY   OF   LUCERNE 

born  doubtless  of  my  evident  sincerity, 
continued :  — 

"  In  the  next  act  Frontignac  gets 
mixed  up  in  some  banking  scandals,  — 
he  would,  like  a  fool,  play  roulette  — 
baccarat  was  always  his  strong  game,  — 
disappears  from  Vienna,  is  arrested  at 
the  frontier,  escapes,  and  is  found  the 
next  morning  under  a  brush-heap  with  a 
bullet  through  his  head.  This  ends  the 
search.  Two  years  later  —  this  is  now 
Act  III.  — Madame  la  Baronne,  without 
a  sou  to  her  name,  is  hard  at  work  in 
the  hospitals  of  Metz.  The  child  is  pen- 
sioned out  near  by. 

"  Now  comes  the  grand  romance.  An 
officer  attached  to  the  i3th  Cuirassiers 
—  a  regiment  with  not  men  enough  left 
after  Metz  to  muster  a  company  —  is 
picked  up  for  dead,  with  one  arm  torn 
off,  and  a  sabre-slash  over  his  head,  and 
brought  to  her  ward.  She  nurses  him 
back  to  life,  inch  by  inch,  and  in  six 
months  he  joins  his  regiment.  Now 
please  follow  the  plot.  It  is  quite  inter- 
esting. Is  it  not  easy  to  see  what  will 
happen  ?  Tender  and  beautiful,  young 
and  brave  !  Vive  le  bel  amour !  It  is 
the  old  story,  but  it  is  also  une  affaire  de 
cceur  —  la  grande  passion.  In  a  few 
months  they  are  married,  and  he  takes 
her  to  his  home  in  Rouen.  There  he 

122 


THE  LADY  OF  LUCERNE 

listens  to  her  entreaties,  and  resigns  his 
commission. 

"  This  was  five  years  ago.  To-day  he 
is  a  broken-down  man,  starving  on  his 
pension ;  a  poor  devil  about  the  streets, 
instead  of  a  general  commanding  a  de- 
partment ;  and  all  for  love  of  her.  Some, 
of  course,  said  it  was  the  sabre-cut ; 
some  that  he  could  no  longer  hold  his 
command,  he  was  so  badly  slashed.  But 
it  is  as  I  tell  you.  You  can  see  him 
here  any  day,  sitting  under  the  trees, 
playing  with  the  child,  or  along  the  lake 
front,  leaning  on  her  arm." 

Here  the  croupier  rose  from  the  bench, 
looked  critically  over  his  case  of  cigar- 
ettes, selected  one  carefully,  and  began 
buttoning  his  coat  as  if  to  go. 

By  this  time  I  had  determined  to  know 
the  end.  I  felt  that  he  had  told  me  the 
truth  as  far  as  he  had  gone  ;  but  I  felt, 
also,  that  he  had  stopped  at  the  most 
critical  point  of  her  career.  I  saw,  too, 
that  he  was  familiar  with  its  details. 

"  Go  on,  please.  Here,  try  a  cigar." 
My  interest  in  my  heroine  had  even 
made  me  courteous.  My  aversion  to 
him,  too,  was  wearing  off.  Perhaps,  af- 
ter all,  croupiers  were  no  worse  than 
other  people.  "Now,  one  thing  more. 
Why  was  she  in  your  gambling-house  ? " 

He  lighted  the  cigar,  touched  his  hat 
123 


THE  LADY  OF  LUCERNE 

with  his  forefinger,  and  again  seated 
himself. 

"  Well,  then,  monsieur,  as  you  will.  I 
always  trust  you  Americans.  When  you 
lose,  you  pay ;  when  you  win,  you  keep 
your  mouths  shut.  Besides,"  —  this  was 
spoken  more  to  himself,  —  "  you  have 
never  seen  him,  and  never  will.  Le  voila. 
One  night,  —  this  only  a  year  ago,  re- 
member,—  in  one  of  the  gardens  at 
Baden,  a  hand  touched  the  baroness's 
shoulder. 

"  It  was  Frontignac's. 

"  The  body  under  the  brush-heap  had 
been  that  of  another  man  dressed  in 
Frontignac's  clothes.  The  bullet-hole 
in  his  head  was  made  by  a  ball  from 
Frontignac's  pistol.  Since  then  he  had 
been  hiding  in  exile. 

"  He  threatened  exposure.  She  pleaded 
for  her  boy  and  her  crippled  husband. 
She  could,  of  course,  have  handed  him 
over  to  the  nearest  gendarme ;  but  that 
meant  arrest,  and  arrest  meant  expos- 
ure. At  their  home  in  Vienna,  let  me 
tell  you,  baccarat  had  been  played  night- 
ly as  a  pastime  for  their  guests.  So 
great  was  her  luck  that  'As  lucky  as 
the  Baronne  Frontignac'  was  a  byword. 
Frontignac's  price  was  this:  she  must 
take  his  fifty  louis  and  play  that  stake 
at  the  Casino  that  night;  when  she 
124 


THE   LADY   OF   LUCERNE 

brought    him   ten   thousand   francs   he 
would  vanish. 

"  That  night  at  Baden  —  I  was  dealing, 
and  know  —  she  won  twelve  thousand 
francs  in  as  many  minutes.  Here  her 
slavery  began.  It  will  continue  until 
Frontignac  is  discovered  and  captured ; 
then  he  will  put  a  second  bullet  into  his 
own  head.  When  I  saw  her  enter  my 
room  I  knew  he  had  turned  up  again. 
As  she  staggered  out,  one  of  my  men 
shadowed  her.  I  was  right ;  Frontignac 
was  skulking  in  the  garden." 

All  my  disgust  for  the  croupier  re- 
turned in  an  instant.  He  was  still  the 
same  bloodless  spider  of  the  night  before. 
I  could  hardly  keep  my  hands  off  him. 

"And  you  permit  this,  and  let  this 
woman  suffer  these  tortures,  her  life 
made  miserable  by  this  scoundrel,  when  a 
word,  even  a  look,  from  you  would  send 
him  out  of  the  country  and  "  — 

"  Softly,  monsieur,  softly.  Why 
blame  me  ?  What  business  is  it  of  mine. 
Do  I  love  the  cripple  ?  Have  I  robbed 
the  bank  and  murdered  my  double  ?  This 
is  not  my  game ;  it  is  Frontignac's. 
Would  you  have  me  kick  over  his  chess 
board?" 

125 


JONATHAN 

HE  was  so  ugly,  —  outside,  I  mean  : 
long  and  lank,  flat-chested,  shrunk- 
en, round  -  shouldered,  stooping  when 
he  walked  ;  body  like  a  plank,  arms  and 
legs  like  split  rails,  feet  immense,  hands 
like  paddles,  head  set  on  a  neck  scrawny 
as  a  picked  chicken's,  hair  badly  put  on 
and  in  patches,  some  about  his  head, 
some  around  his  jaws,  some  under  his 
chin  in  a  half  moon,  —  a  good  deal  on 
the  back  of  his  hands  and  on  his  chest. 
Nature  had  hewn  him  in  the  rough  and 
had  left  him  with  every  axe  mark  show- 
ing. 

He  wore  big  shoes  tied  with  deer 
hide  strings  and  nondescript  breeches 
that  wrinkled  along  his  knotted  legs 
like  old  gun  covers.  These  were 
patched  and  repatched  with  various 
hues  and  textures,  —  parts  of  another 
pair,  —  bits  of  a  coat  and  fragments  of 
tailor's  cuttings.  Sewed  in  their  seat 
was  half  of  a  cobbler's  apron,  —  for 
greater  safety  in  sliding  over  ledges  and 
logs,  he  would  tell  you.  Next  came  a 
126 


JONATHAN 

leather  belt  polished  with  use,  and  then 
a  woolen  shirt,  —  any  kind  of  a  shirt,  — 
cross-barred  or  striped,  —  whatever  the 
store  had  cheapest,  and  over  that  a 
waistcoat  with  a  cotton  back  and  some 
kind  of  a  front,  looking  like  a  state  map, 
it  had  so  many  colored  patches.  There 
was  never  any  coat,  —  none  that  I  re- 
member. When  he  wore  a  coat  he  was 
another  kind  of  a  Jonathan,  —  a  store- 
dealing  Jonathan,  or  a  church-going 
Jonathan,  or  a  town-meeting  Jonathan, 
—  not  the  "  go-a-fishin',"  or  "  bee- 
huntin',"  or  "  deer-stalkin'  "  Jonathan 
whom  I  knew. 

There  was  a  wide  straw  hat,  too,  that 
crowned  his  head  and  canted  with  the 
wind  and  flopped  about  his  neck,  and 
would  have  sailed  away  down  many  a 
mountain  brook  but  for  a  faithful  leather 
strap  that  lay  buried  in  the  half-moon 
whiskers  and  held  on  for  dear  life. 
And  from  under  the  rim  of  this  thatch, 
and  half  hidden  in  the  matted  masses  of 
badly  adjusted  hair,  was  a  thin,  peaked 
nose,  bridged  by  a  pair  of  big  spectacles, 
and  somewhere  below  these,  again,  a 
pitfall  of  a  mouth  covered  with  twigs  of 
hair  and  an  underbrush  of  beard,  while 
deep-set  in  the  whole  tangle,  like  still 
pools  reflecting  the  blue  and  white  of 
the  sweet  heavens  above,  lay  his  eyes, 
127 


JONATHAN 

—  eyes  that  won  you,  kindly,  twinkling, 
merry,  trustful,  and  trusting  eyes.  Be- 
neath these  pools  of  light,  way  down 
below,  way  down  where  his  heart  beat 
warm,  lived  Jonathan. 

I  know  a  fruit  in  Mexico,  delicious  in 
flavor,  called  Timburici,  covered  by  a 
skin  as  rough  and  hairy  as  a  cocoanut ; 
and  a  flower  that  bristles  with  thorns 
before  it  blooms  into  waxen  beauty ; 
and  there  are  agates  encrusted  with 
clay  and  pearls  that  lie  hidden  in 
oysters.  All  these  things,  somehow,  re- 
mind me  of  Jonathan. 

His  cabin  was  the  last  bit  of  shingle 
and  brick  chimney  on  that  side  of  the 
Franconia  Notch.  There  were  others, 
farther  on  in  the  forest,  with  bark 
slants  for  shelter,  and  forked  sticks  for 
swinging  kettles  ;  but  civilization  ended 
with  Jonathan's  store-stove  and  the 
square  of  oil-cloth  that  covered  his  sit- 
ting-room floor.  Upstairs,  under  the 
rafters,  there  was  a  guest-chamber 
smelling  of  pine  boards  and  drying 
herbs,  and  sheltering  a  bed  gridironed 
with  bed -cord  and  softened,  by  a  thin 
layer  of  feathers  encased  in  a  ticking 
and  covered  with  a  cotton  quilt.  This 
bed  always  made  a  deep  impression 
upon  me  mentally  and  bodily.  Mentally, 
because  I  always  slept  so  soundly  in  it 
128 


JONATHAN 

whenever  I  visited  Jonathan,  —  even 
with  the  rain  pattering  on  the  roof  and 
the  wind  soughing  through  the  big  pine- 
trees;  and  bodily,  because  —  well,  be- 
cause of  the  cords.  Beside  this  bed 
was  a  chair  for  my  candle,  and  on  the 
floor  a  small  square  plank,  laid  loosely 
over  the  stovepipe  hole  which,  in  winter, 
held  the  pipe. 

In  summer  mornings  Jonathan  made 
an  alarm  clock  of  this  plank,  flopping  it 
about  with  the  end  of  a  fishing-rod 
poked  up  from  below,  never  stopping 
until  he  saw  my  sleepy  face  peering 
down  into  his  own.  There  was  no 
bureau,  only  a  nail  or  so  in  the  scant- 
ling, and  no  washstand,  of  course ;  the 
tin  basin  at  the  well  outside  was  better. 

Then  there  was  an  old  wife  that  lived 
in  the  cabin,  —  an  old  wife  made  of  sole 
leather,  with  yellow-white  hair  and  a 
thin,  pinched  face  and  a  body  all  angles, 
—  chest,  arms,  everywhere,  —  outlined 
through  her  straight  up  and  down  calico 
dress.  When  she  spoke,  however,  you 
stopped  to  listen,  —  it  was  like  a  wood 
sound,  low  and  far  away,  —  soft  as  a 
bird  call.  People  living  alone  in  the 
forests  often  have  these  voices. 

Last  there  was  a  dog,  —  a  mean, 
sniveling,  stump-tailed  dog,  of  no  partic- 
ular breed  or  kidney.  One  of  those 
129 


JONATHAN 

dogs  whose  ancestry  went  to  the  bad 
many  generations  before  he  was  born. 
A  dog  part  fox,  —  he  got  all  his  slyness 
here ;  and  part  wolf,  this  made  him  rav- 
enous ;  and  part  bull-terrier,  this  made 
him  ill-tempered ;  and  all  the  rest  poodle, 
that  made  him  too  lazy  to  move. 

The  wife  knew  this  dog,  and  hung  the 
bacon  on  a  high  nail  out  of  his  reach,  and 
covered  with  a  big  dish  the  pies  cooling 
on  the  bench ;  and  the  neighbors  down 
the  road  knew  him  and  chased  him  out  of 
their  dairy-cellars  when  he  nosed  into  the 
milk-pans  and  cheese-pots  ;  and  even  the 
little  children  found  out  what  a  coward 
he  was,  and  sent  him  howling  home  to 
his  hole  under  the  porch,  where  he  grum- 
bled and  pouted  all  day  like  a  spoiled 
child  that  had  been  half  whipped.  Every- 
body knew  him,  and  everybody  despised 
him  for  a  low-down,  thieving,  lazy  cur, 
—  everybody  except  Jonathan.  Jonathan 
loved  him,  —  loved  his  weepy,  smeary 
eyes,  and  his  rough,  black  hair,  and  his 
fat  round  body,  short  stumpy  legs,  and 
shorter  stumpy  tail,  —  especially  the  tail. 
Everything  else  that  the  dog  lacked  could 
be  traced  back  to  the  peccadillos  of  his 
ancestors,  —  Jonathan  was  responsible 
for  the  tail. 

"  Ketched  in  a  b'ar-trap  I  hed  sot  up 
back  in  thet  green  timber  on  Loon  Pond 
130 


JONATHAN 

Maountin'  six  year  ago  last  fall,  when  he 
wuz  a  pup,"  he  would  say,  holding  the 
dog  in  his  lap,  —  his  favorite  seat.  "I 
swan,  ef  it  war  n't  too  bad !  Thinks  I, 
when  I  sot  it,  I  '11  tell  the  leetle  cuss 
whar  it  wuz  ;  then  —  I  must  hev  forgot 
it.  It  war  n't  a  week  afore  he  wuz  run- 
nin'  a  rabbet  and  run  right  into  it.  Wall, 
sir,  them  iron  jaws  took  thet  tail  er  his'n 
off  julluk  a  knife.  He's  allus  been  kinder 
sore  ag'in  me  sence,  and  I  dunno  but  he 's 
right,  fur  it  wuz  mighty  keerless  in  me. 
Wall,  sir,  he  come  yowlin'  hum,  and 
when  he  see  me  he  did  look  saour,  —  no 
use  talkin',  —  jest  ez  ef  he  wuz  a-sayin', 
'  Yer  think  you  're  paowerful  cunnin'  with 
yer  b'ar-traps,  don't  ye  ?  Jest  see  what 
it 's  done  to  my  tail.  It 's  kinder  sp'ilt 
me  for  a  dog.'  All  my  fault,  war  n't  it, 
George  ?  "  patting  his  head.  (Only  Jon- 
athan would  call  a  dog  George.) 

Here  the  dog  would  look  up  out  of  one 
eye  as  he  spoke,  —  he  had  n't  forgotten 
the  bear-trap,  and  never  intended  to  let 
Jonathan  forget  it  either.  Then  Jona- 
than would  admire  ruefully  the  end  of 
the  stump,  stroking  the  dog  all  the  while 
with  his  big,  hairy,  paddle-like  hands, 
George  rooting  his  head  under  the  flap 
of  the  party-colored  waistcoat. 

One  night,  I  remember,  we  had  waited 
supper,  —  the  wife  and  I,  —  we  were 
131 


JONATHAN 

obliged  to  wait,  the  trout  being  in  Jona- 
than's creel,  —  when  Jonathan  walked  in, 
looking  tired  and  worried. 

"  Hez  George  come  home,  Marthy  ?  " 
he  asked,  resting  his  long  bamboo  rod 
against  the  porch  rail  and  handing  the 
creel  of  trout  to  the  wife.  "  No  ?  Wall, 
I  'm  beat  ef  thet  ain't  cur'us.  Guess  I 
got  ter  look  him  up."  And  he  disap- 
peared hurriedly  into  the  darkening  for- 
est, his  anxious,  whistling  call  growing 
fainter  and  fainter  as  he  was  lost  in  its 
depths.  Marthy  was  not  uneasy,  —  not 
about  the  dog;  it  was  the  supper  that 
troubled  her.  She  knew  Jonathan's  ways, 
and  she  knew  George.  This  was  a  favor- 
ite trick  of  the  dog's,  —  this  of  losing 
Jonathan. 

The  trout  were  about  burnt  to  a  crisp 
and  the  corn-bread  stone  cold  when  Jon- 
athan came  trudging  back,  George  in  his 
arms,  —  a  limp,  soggy,  half-dead  dog,  ap- 
parently. Marthy  said  nothing.  It  was 
an  old  story.  Half  the  time  Jonathan 
carried  him  home. 

"  Supper  's  ready,"  she  said  quietly, 
and  we  went  in. 

George  slid  out  of  Jonathan's  arms, 
smelt  about  for  a  soft  plank,  and  fell  in  a 
heap  on  the  porch,  his  chin  on  his  paws, 
his  mean  little  eyes  watching  lazily, — 
speaking  to  nobody,  noticing  nobody, 
132 


JONATHAN 

sulking  all  to  himself.  There  he  stayed 
until  he  caught  a  whiff  of  the  fragrant, 
pungent  odor  of  fried  trout.  Then  he 
cocked  one  eye  and  lifted  an  ear.  He 
must  not  carry  things  too  far.  Next,  I 
heard  a  single  thump  of  his  six-inch 
tail.  George  was  beginning  to  get 
pleased ;  he  always  did  when  there  were 
things  to  eat. 

All  this  time  Jonathan,  tired  out,  sat 
in  his  big  splint  chair  at  the  supper-table. 
He  had  been  thrashing  the  brook  since 
daylight,  —  over  his  knees  sometimes.  I 
could  still  see  the  high-water  mark  on 
his  patched  trousers.  Another  whiff  of 
the  frying-pan,  and  George  got  up.  He 
dared  not  poke  his  nose  into  Marthy's 
lap,  —  there  were  too  many  chunks  of 
wood  within  easy  reach  of  her  hand.  So 
he  sidled  up  to  Jonathan,  rubbing  his 
nose  against  his  big  knees,  whining  hun- 
grily, looking  up  into  his  face. 

"  I  tell  ye,"  said  Jonathan,  smiling  at 
me,  patting  the  dog  as  he  spoke,  "  this 
yere  George  hez  got  more  sense  'n  most 
men.  He  knows  what 's  become  of  them 
trout  we  ketched.  I  guess  he 's  gittin' 
over  the  way  I  treated  him  to-day.  Ye 
see,  we  wuz  up  the  East  Branch  when  he 
run  a  fox  south.  Thinks  I,  the  fox  '11 
take  a  whirl  back  and  cross  the  big  run- 
way ;  and,  sure  enough,  it  war  n't  long 


JONATHAN 

afore  I  heard  George  a-comin'  back, 
yippin'  along  up  through  Hank  Simons' 
holler.  So  I  whistled  to  him  and  steered 
off  up  onto  the  maountin'  to  take  a  look 
at  Bog-eddy  and  try  and  git  a  pickerel. 
When  I  come  daown  ag'in,  I  see  George 
war  n't  whar  I  left  him,  so  I  hollered  and 
whistled  ag'in.  Then,  thinks  I,  you're 
mad  'cause  I  left  ye,  an'  won't  let  on  ye 
kin  hear  ;  so  I  come  along  hum  without 
him.  When  I  went  back  a  while  ago 
a-lookin'  for  him,  would  yer  believe  it, 
thar  he  wuz  a-layin'  in  the  road,  about 
forty  rod  this  side  of  Hank  Simons' 
sugar  maples,  flat  onto  his  stummick 
an'  disgusted  an'  put  out  awful.  It  wuz 
about  all  I  could  do  ter  git  him  hum.  I 
knowed  the  minute  I  come  in  fust  time 
an'  see  he  war  n't  here  thet  his  feelin's 
wuz  hurt  'cause  I  left  him.  I  presaume 
mebbe  I  ought er  hollered  ag'in  afore  I 
got  so  fer  off.  Then  I  thought,  of  course, 
he  knowed  I  'd  gone  to  Bog-eddy.  Beats 
all,  what  sense  some  dogs  hez." 

I  never  knew  Jonathan  to  lose  pa- 
tience with  George  but  once  :  that  was 
when  the  dog  tried  to  burrow  into 
the  hole  of  a  pair  of  chipmunks  whom 
Jonathan  loved.  They  lived  in  a 
tree  blanketed  with  moss  and  lying 
across  the  wood  road.  George  had  tried 
to  scrape  an  acquaintance  by  crawling 


JONATHAN 

in  uninvited,  nearly  scaring  the  little 
fellows  to  death,  and  Jonathan  had  flat- 
tened him  into  the  dry  leaves  with  his 
big,  paddle-like  hands.  That  was  before 
the  bear-trap  had  nipped  his  tail,  but 
George  never  forgot  it. 

He  was  particularly  polite  to  chip- 
munks after  that.  He  would  lie  still  by 
the  hour  and  hear  Jonathan  talk  to  them 
without  even  a  whine  of  discontent.  I 
watched  the  old  man  one  morning  up 
beneath  the  ledges,  groping,  on  his 
hands  and  knees,  filling  his  pockets  with 
nuts,  and  when  he  reached  the  wood 
road,  emptying  them  in  a  pile  near  the 
chipmunk's  tree,  George  looking  on 
good-naturedly. 

"  Guess  you  leetle  cunnin's  better 
hurry  up,"  he  said,  while  he  poured  out 
the  nuts  on  the  ground,  his  knees  stick- 
ing up  as  he  sat,  like  some  huge  grass- 
hopper's. "Guess  ye  ain't  got  more 
'n  time  to  fill  yer  cubbud,  —  winter 's 
a-comin' !  Them  leetle  birches  on  Bog- 
eddy  is  turnin'  yeller,  —  that 's  the  fust 
sign.  'Fore  ye  knows  it  snow  '11  be 
fly  in'.  Then  whar  '11  ye  be  with  every- 
thing froze  tighter 'n  Sampson  bound 
the  heathen,  you  cunnin'  leetle  skitterin' 
pups.  Then  I  presaume  likely  ye  '11 
come  a-drulin'  raound  an'  want  me  an* 
George  should  gin  ye  suthin  to  git 


JONATHAN 

through  th*  winter  on,  —  won't  they, 
George  ?  " 

"Beats  all,"  he  said  to  me  that  night, 
"  how  thoughtful  some  dogs  is.  Had  n't 
been  fer  George  to-day,  I  'd  clean  forgot 
them  leetle  folks.  I  see  him  scratching 
raound  in  the  leaves  an'  I  knowed  right 
away  what  he  wuz  thinkin'  of." 

Often  when  I  was  sketching  in  the 
dense  forest,  Jonathan  would  lie  down 
beside  me,  the  old  flop  of  a  hat  under 
his  head,  his  talk  rambling  on. 

"I  don't  wonder  ye  like  to  paint  'em. 
Thar  hain't  nothin'  so  human  as  trees. 
Take  thet  big  hemlock  right  in  front  er 
yer.  Hain't  he  led  a  pretty  decent  life  ? 
See  how  praoud  an'  tall  he's  growed, 
with  them  arms  of  his'n  straight  aout 
an'  them  leetle  chillen  of  his'n  spraout- 
ing  up  raound  him.  I  tell  ye  them  hem- 
locks is  pretty  decent  people.  Now 
take  a  look  at  them  two  white  birches 
down  by  thet  big  rock.  Ain't  it  a 
shame  the  way  them  fellers  hez  been 
goin'  on  sence  they  wuz  leetle  saplin's, 
makin'  it  so  nothin'  could  grow  raound 
'em,  —  with  their  jackets  all  ragged  an' 
tore  like  tramps,  an'  their  toes  all  out  of 
their  shoes  whar  ther  roots  is  stickin' 
clear  of  the  bark,  —  ain't  they  a-ketchin' 
it  in  their  ole  age  ?  An'  then  foller  on 
daown  whar  thet  leetle  bunch  er  silver 
136 


JONATHAN 

maples  is  dancin'  in  the  sunlight,  so 
slender  an'  cunnin',  —  all  aout  in  their 
summer  dresses,  julluk  a  bevy  er  young 
gals,  —  ain't  they  human  like  ?  I  tell  ye, 
trees  is  the  humanest  things  thet  is." 

These  talks  with  me  made  George 
restless.  He  was  never  happy  unless 
Jonathan  had  him  on  his  mind. 

But  it  was  a  cluster  of  daisies  that  first 
lifted  the  inner  lid  of  Jonathan's  heart 
for  me.  I  was  away  up  the  side  of  the 
Notch  overlooking  the  valley,  my  easel 
and  canvas  lashed  to  a  tree,  the  wind 
blew  so,  when  Jonathan  came  toiling  up 
the  slope,  a  precipice  in  fact,  with  a  tin 
can  strapped  to  his  back,  filled  with  hot 
corn  and  some  doughnuts,  and  threw 
himself  beside  me,  the  sweat  running 
down  his  weather-tanned  neck. 

"So  long  ez  we  know  whar  you're 
settin'  at  work  it  ain't  nat'ral  to  let  ye 
starve,  be  it  ?  "  throwing  himself  beside 
me.  George  had  started  ahead  of  him 
and  had  been  picked  up  and  carried  as 
usual. 

When  Jonathan  sat  upright,  after  a 
breathing  spell,  his  eye  fell  on  a  tuft  of 
limp,  bruised  daisies,  flattened  to  the 
earth  by  the  heel  of  his  clumsy  shoe. 
There  were  acres  of  others  in  sight. 

"  Gosh  hang  ! "  he  said,  catching  his 
breath  suddenly,  as  if  something  had 


JONATHAN 

stung  him,  and  reaching  down  with  his 
horny,  bent  fingers,  "ef  thet  ain't  too 
bad."  Then  to  himself  in  a  tone  barely 
audible,  —  he  had  entirely  forgotten  my 
presence,  —  "You  never  had  no  sense, 
Jonathan,  nohow,  stumblin'  raound  like 
er  bull  calf  tramplin'  everything.  Jes' 
see  what  ye  've  gone  an'  done  with  them 
big  feet  er  yourn,"  bending  over  the 
bruised  plant  and  tenderly  adjusting  the 
leaves.  "Them  daisies  hez  got  jest  ez 
good  a  right  ter  live  ez  you  hev." 

I  was  almost  sure  when  I  began  that 
I  had  a  story  to  tell.  I  had  thought  of 
that  one  about  Luke  Pollard,  —  the  day 
Luke  broke  his  leg  behind  Loon  Moun- 
tain, and  Jonathan  carried  him  down 
the  gorge  on  his  back,  crossing  ledges 
that  would  have  scared  a  goat.  It  was 
snowing  at  the  time,  they  said,  and 
blowing  a  gale.  When  they  got  half 
way  down  White  Face,  Jonathan's  foot 
slipped  and  he  fell  into  the  ravine, 
breaking  his  wrist.  Only  the  drifts 
saved  his  life.  Luke  caught  a  sapling 
and  held  on.  The  doctor  set  Jonathan's 
wrist  last,  and  Luke  never  knew  it  had 
been  broken  until  the  next  day.  It  is 
one  of  the  stories  they  tell  you  around 
the  stove  winter  evenings. 

"Julluk  the  night  Jonathan  carried 
138 


JONATHAN 

aout  Luke,"  they  say,  listening  to  the 
wind  howling  over  the  ledges. 

And  then  I  thought  of  that  other 
story  that  Hank  Simons  told  me, — the 
one  about  the  mill  back  of  Woodstock 
caving  in  from  the  freshet  and  burying 
the  miller's  girl.  No  one  dared  lift  the 
timbers  until  Jonathan  crawled  in.  The 
child  was  pinned  down  between  the 
beams,  and  the  water  rose  so  fast  they 
feared  the  wreckage  would  sweep  the 
mill.  Jonathan  clung  to  the  sills  waist- 
deep  in  the  torrent,  crept  under  the  floor 
timbers,  and  then  bracing  his  back  held 
the  beam  until  he  dragged  her  clear.  It 
happened  a  good  many  years  ago,  but 
Hank  always  claimed  it  had  bent  Jona- 
than's back. 

But,  after  all,  they  are  not  the  things 
I  love  best  to  remember  of  Jonathan. 

It  is  always  the  old  man's  voice,  croon- 
ing his  tuneless  song  as  he  trudges  home 
in  the  twilight,  his  well-filled  creel  at  his 
side,  —  the  good-for-nothing  dog  in  his 
arms  ;  or  it  is  that  look  of  sweet  content- 
ment on  his  face, —  the  deep  and  thought- 
ful eyes,  filled  with  the  calm  serenity  of 
his  soul.  And  then  the  ease  and  freedom 
of  his  life  !  Plenty  of  air  and  space,  and 
plenty  of  time  to  breathe  and  move ! 
Having  nothing,  possessing  all  things ! 
No  bonds  to  guard,  —  no  cares  to  stifle, 
139 


JONATHAN 

—  no  trains  to  catch,  —  no  appointments 
to  keep,  —  no  fashions  to  follow,  —  no 
follies  to  shun  !  Only  the  old  wife  and 
worthless,  lazy  dog,  and  the  rod  and  the 
creel !  Only  the  blessed  sunshine  and 
fresh,  sweet  air,  and  the  cool  touch  of 
deep  woods. 

No,  there  is  no  story  —  only  Jonathan. 
140 


ALONG   THE   BRONX 

HIDDEN  in  our  memories  there  are 
quaint,  quiet  nooks  tucked  away  at  the 
end  of  leafy  lanes ;  still  streams  over- 
hung with  feathery  foliage  ;  gray  rocks 
lichen  -  covered  ;  low  -  ground  meadows, 
knee-deep  in  lush  grass  ;  restful,  lazy 
lakes  dotted  with  pond-lilies  ;  great,  wide- 
spreading  trees,  their  arms  uplifted  in 
song,  their  leaves  quivering  with  the 
melody. 

I  say  there  are  all  these  delights  of 
leaf,  moss,  ripple,  and  shade  stored  away 
somewhere  in  our  memories,  —  dry  bulbs 
of  a  preceding  summer's  bloom,  that 
need  only  the  first  touch  of  spring,  the 
first  glorious  day  in  June,  to  break  out 
into  flower.  When  they  do  break  out, 
they  are  generally  chilled  in  the  bloom- 
ing by  the  thousand  and  one  difficulties 
of  prolonged  travel,  time  of  getting  there 
and  time  of  getting  back  again,  expense, 
and  lack  of  accommodations. 

If  you  live  in  New  York  —  and  really 
you  should  not  live  anywhere  else  !  — • 
there  are  a  few  buttons  a  tired  man  can 
141 


ALONG  THE  BRONX 

touch  that  will  revive  for  him  all  these 
delights  in  half  an  hour's  walk,  costing 
but  a  car-fare,  and  robbing  no  man  or 
woman  of  time,  even  without  the  bene- 
fits of  the  eight-hour  law. 

You  touch  one  of  these  buttons  when 
you  plan  to  spend  an  afternoon  along  the 
Bronx. 

There  are  other  buttons,  of  course. 
You  can  call  up  the  edges  of  the  Pali- 
sades, with  their  great  sweep  of  river  be- 
low, the  seething,  steaming  city  beyond ; 
or,  you  can  say  "  Hello  ! "  to  the  Upper 
Harlem,  with  its  house-boats  and  float- 
ing restaurants ;  or  you  can  ring  up 
Westchester  and  its  picturesque  water- 
line.  But  you  cannot  get  them  all  to- 
gether in  half  an  hour  except  in  one 
place,  and  that  is  along  the  Bronx. 

The  Bronx  is  the  forgotten,  the  over- 
looked, the  "  disremembered,"  as  the 
provincial  puts  it.  Somebody  may  know 
where  it  begins  —  I  do  not.  I  only  know 
where  it  ends.  What  its  early  life  may 
be,  away  up  near  White  Plains,  what 
farms  it  waters,  what  dairies  it  cools, 
what  herds  it  refreshes,  I  know  not.  I 
only  know  that  when  I  get  off  at  Wood- 
lawn  —  that  City  of  the  Silent  —  it 
comes  down  from  somewhere  up  above 
the  railroad  station,  and  that  it  "  takes 
a  header,"  as  the  boys  say,  under  an  old 
142 


ALONG   THE   BRONX 

mill,  abandoned  long  since,  and  then, 
like  another  idler,  goes  singing  along 
through  open  meadows,  and  around  big 
trees  in  clumps,  their  roots  washed  bare, 
and  then  over  sandy  stretches  reflecting 
the  flurries  of  yellow  butterflies,  and  then 
around  a  great  hill,  and  so  on  down  to 
Laguerre's. 

Of  course,  when  it  gets  to  Laguerre's 
I  know  all  about  it.  I  know  the  old 
rotting  landing-wharf  where  Monsieur 
moors  his  boats,  —  the  one  with  the  little 
seat  is  still  there  ;  and  Lucette's  big  eyes 
are  just  as  brown,  and  her  hair  just  as 
black,  and  her  stockings  and  slippers 
just  as  dainty  on  Sundays  as  when  first 
I  knew  her.  And  the  wooden  bench  is 
still  there,  where  the  lovers  used  to  sit ; 
only  Monsieur,  her  father,  tells  me  that 
Francois  works  very  late  in  the  big  city, 
—  three  mouths  to  feed  now,  you  see,  — 
and  only  when  le  petit  Frangois  is  tucked 
away  in  his  crib  in  the  long  summer 
nights,  and  Lucette  has  washed  the 
dishes  and  put  on  her  best  apron,  and 
the  Bronx  stops  still  in  a  quiet  pool  to 
listen,  is  the  bench  used  as  in  the  old 
time  when  Monsieur  discovered  the  lov- 
ers by  the  flash  of  his  lantern. 

Then  I  know  where  it  floats  along  be- 
low Laguerre's,  and  pulls  itself  together 
in  a  very  dignified  way  as  it  sails  under 


ALONG  THE  BRONX 

the  brand-new  bridge,  —  the  old  one, 
propped  up  on  poles,  has  long  since  paid 
tribute  to  a  spring  freshet,  —  and  quick- 
ens its  pace  below  the  old  Dye-house,  — 
also  a  wreck  now  (they  say  it  is  haunted), 
—  and  then  goes  slopping  along  in  and 
out  of  the  marshes,  sousing  the  sunken 
willow  roots,  oozing  through  beds  of 
weeds  and  tangled  vines. 

But  only  a  very  little  while  ago  did  I 
know  where  it  began  to  leave  off  all  its 
idle  ways  and  took  really  to  the  serious 
side  of  life ;  when  it  began  rushing 
down  long,  stony  ravines,  plunging  over 
respectable,  well-to-do  masonry  dams, 
skirting  once  costly  villas,  whispering 
between  dark  defiles  of  rock,  and  other- 
wise disporting  itself  as  becomes  a  well- 
ordered,  conventional,  self  -  respecting 
mountain  stream,  un contaminated  by  the 
encroachments  and  frivolities  of  civilized 
life. 

All  this  begins  at  Fordham.  Not  ex- 
actly at  Fordham,  for  you  must  walk  due 
east  from  the  station  for  half  a  mile, 
climb  a  fence,  and  strike  through  the 
woods  before  you  hear  its  voice  and 
catch  the  gleam  of  its  tumbling  current. 

They  will  all  be  there  when  you  go  — 

all  the  quaint  nooks,  all  the  delights  of 

leaf,  moss,  ripple,  and   shade,  of   your 

early  memories.     And  in  the  half-hour, 

144 


ALONG  THE  BRONX 

too, — less  if  you  are  quick-footed, — 
from  your  desk  or  shop  in  the  great  city. 

No,  you  never  heard  of  it.  I  knew 
that  before  you  said  a  word.  You 
thought  it  was  the  dumping-ground  of 
half  the  cast-off  tinware  of  the  earth  ; 
that  only  the  shanty,  the  hen-coop,  and 
the  stable  overhung  its  sluggish  waters, 
and  only  the  carpet  shaker,  the  sod 
gatherer,  and  the  tramp  infested  its 
banks. 

I  tell  you  that  in  all  my  wanderings 
in  search  of  the  picturesque,  nothing 
within  a  day's  journey  is  half  as  charm- 
ing. That  its  stretches  of  meadow,  wil- 
low clumps,  and  tangled  densities  are  as 
lovely,  fresh,  and  enticing  as  can  be 
found  —  yes,  within  a  thousand  miles  of 
your  door.  That  the  rocks  are  encrusted 
with  the  thickest  of  moss  and  lichen, 
gray,  green,  black,  and  brilliant  emerald. 
That  the  trees  are  superb,  the  solitude 
and  rest  complete.  That  it  is  finer,  more 
subtle,  more  exquisite  than  its  sister 
brooks  in  the  denser  forest,  because 
that  here  and  there  it  shows  the  trace  of 
some  human  touch,  —  and  nature  is  never 
truly  picturesque  without  it,  —  the  bro- 
ken-down fence,  the  sagging  bridge,  and 
vine-covered  roof. 

But  you  must  go  now. 

Now,  before  the  grip  of  the  great  city 


ALONG  THE  BRONX 

has  been  fastened  upon  it;  before  the 
axe  of  the  "  dago  "  clears  out  the  wilder- 
ness of  underbrush;  before  the  land- 
scape gardener,  the  sanitary  engineer, 
and  the  contractor  pounce  upon  it  and 
strangle  it ;  before  the  crimes  of  the 
cast-iron  fountain,  the  varnished  grape- 
vine arbor,  with  seats  to  match,  the 
bronze  statues  presented  by  admiring 
groups  of  citizens,  the  rambles,  malls, 
and  cement-lined  caverns,  are  consum- 
mated ;  before  the  gravel  walk  confines 
your  steps,  and  the  granite  curbing  im- 
prisons the  flowers,  as  if  they,  too,  would 
escape. 

Now,  when  the  tree  lies  as  it  falls ; 
when  the  violets  bloom  and  are  there  for 
the  picking ;  when  the  dogwood  sprinkles 
the  bare  branches  with  white  stars,  and 
the  scent  of  the  laurel  fills  the  air. 

Touch  the  button  some  day  soon  for 
an  hour  along  the  Bronx. 
146 


ANOTHER  DOG 

DO  not  t'ell  me  dogs  cannot  talk.  I 
know  better.  I  saw  it  all  myself. 
It  was  at  Sterzing,  that  most  pic- 
turesque of  all  the  Tyrolean  villages  on 
the  Italian  slope  of  the  Brenner,  with 
its  long,  single  street,  zigzagged  like  a 
straggling  path  in  the  snow,  —  perhaps 
it  was  laid  out  in  that  way,  —  and  its 
little  open  square,  with  shrine  and  rude 
stone  fountain,  surrounded  by  women  in 
short  skirts  and  hobnailed  shoes,  dip- 
ping their  buckets.  On  both  sides  of 
this  street  ran  queer  arcades  sheltering 
shops,  their  doorways  piled  with  cheap 
stuffs,  fruit,  farm  implements,  and  the 
like,  and  at  the  far  end,  it  was  almost 
the  last  house  in  the  town,  stood  the  old 
inn,  where  you  breakfast.  Such  an  old, 
old  inn !  with  swinging  sign  framed  by 
fantastic  iron  work,  and  decorated  with 
overflows  of  foaming  ale  in  green  mugs, 
crossed  clay  pipes,  and  little  round  dabs 
of  yellow-brown  cakes.  There  was  a 
great  archway,  too,  wide  and  high,  with 
enormous,  barn-like  doors  fronting  on 
H7 


ANOTHER  DOG 

this  straggling,  zigzag,  sabot-trodden 
street.  Under  this  a  cobble-stone  pave- 
ment led  to  the  door  of  the  coffee-room 
and  out  to  the  stable  beyond.  These 
barn-like  doors  keep  out  the  driving 
snows  and  the  whirls  of  sleet  and  rain, 
and  are  slammed  to  behind  horse,  sleigh, 
and  all,  if  not  in  the  face,  certainly  in 
the  very  teeth  of  the  winter  gale,  while 
the  traveler  disentangles  his  half-frozen 
legs  at  his  leisure,  almost  within  sight  of 
the  blazing  fire  of  the  coffee-room  within. 

Under  this  great  archway,  then, 
against  one  of  these  doors,  his  big  paws 
just  inside  the  shadow  line,  —  for  it  was 
not  winter,  but  a  brilliant  summer  morn- 
ing, the  grass  all  dusted  with  powdered 
diamonds,  the  sky  a  turquoise,  the  air  a 
joy, —  under  this  archway,  I  say,  sat  a 
big  St.  Bernard  dog,  squat  on  his 
haunches,  his  head  well  up,  like  a  grena- 
dier on  guard.  His  eyes  commanded 
the  approaches  down  the  road,  up  the 
road,  and  across  the  street ;  taking  in 
the  passing  peddler  with  the  tinware,  and 
the  girl  with  a  basket  strapped  to  her 
back,  her  fingers  knitting  for  dear  life, 
not  to  mention  so  unimportant  an  object 
as  myself  swinging  down  the  road,  my 
iron-shod  alpenstock  hammering  the  cob- 
bles. 

He  made  no  objection  to  my  entering, 
148 


ANOTHER  DOG 

neither  did  he  receive  me  with  any 
show  of  welcome.  There  was  no  bound- 
ing forward,  no  wagging  of  the  tail,  no 
aimless  walking  around  for  a  moment, 
and  settling  down  in  another  spot ;  nor 
was  there  any  sudden  growl  or  forbid- 
ding look  in  the  eye.  None  of  these 
things  occurred  to  him,  for  none  of 
these  things  was  part  of  his  duty.  The 
landlord  would  do  the  welcoming,  the 
blue-shirted  porter  take  my  knapsack 
and  show  me  the  way  to  the  coffee- 
room.  His  business  was  to  sit  still  and 
guard  that  archway.  Paying  guests, 
and  those  known  to  the  family, — yes! 
But  stray  mountain  goats,  chickens,  in- 
quisitive, pushing  peddlers,  pigs,  and 
wandering  dogs,  —  well,  he  would  look 
out  for  these. 

While  the  cutlets  and  coffee  were 
being  fried  and  boiled,  I  dragged  a  chair 
across  the  road  and  tilted  it  back  out  of 
the  sun  against  the  wall  of  a  house.  I, 
too,  commanded  a  view  down  past  the 
blacksmith  shop,  where  they  were  heat- 
ing a  huge  iron  tire  to  clap  on  the  hind 
wheel  of  a  diligence,  and  up  the  street 
as  far  as  the  little  square  where  the 
women  were  still  clattering  about  on  the 
cobbles,  their  buckets  on  their  shoulders. 
This  is  how  I  happened  to  be  watching 
the  dog. 

149 


ANOTHER  DOG 

The  more  I  looked  at  him,  the  more 
strongly  did  his  personality  impress  me. 
The  exceeding  gravity  of  his  demeanor  ! 
The  dignified  attitude  !  The  quiet,  silent 
reserve !  The  way  he  looked  at  you 
from  under  his  eyebrows,  not  eagerly, 
nor  furtively,  but  with  a  self-possessed, 
competent  air,  quite  like  a  captain  of  a 
Cunarder  scanning  a  horizon  from  the 
bridge,  or  a  French  gendarme,  watching 
the  shifting  crowds  from  one  of  the 
little  stone  circles  anchored  out  in  the 
rush  of  the  boulevards,  —  a  look  of 
authority  backed  by  a  sense  of  unlimited 
power.  Then,  too,  there  was  such  a 
dignified  cut  to  his  hairy  chops  as  they 
drooped  over  his  teeth  beneath  his  black, 
stubby  nose.  His  ears  rose  and  fell 
easily,  without  undue  haste  or  excite- 
ment when  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs 
put  him  on  his  guard,  or  a  goat 
wandered  too  near.  Yet  one  could  see 
that  he  was  not  a  meddlesome  dog,  nor 
a  snarler,  no  running  out  and  giving 
tongue  at  each  passing  object,  not  that 
kind  of  a  dog  at  all !  He  was  just  a 
plain,  substantial,  well-mannered,  digni- 
fied, self-respecting  St.  Bernard  dog, 
who  knew  his  place  and  kept  it,  who 
knew  his  duty  and  did  it,  and  who 
would  no  more  chase  a  cat  than  he 
would  bite  your  legs  in  the  dark.  Put 
150 


ANOTHER  DOG 

a  cap  with  a  gold  band  on  his  head  and 
he  would  really  have  made  an  ideal  con- 
cierge. Even  without  the  band,  he  con- 
centrated in  his  person  all  the  superi- 
ority, the  repose,  and  exasperating  ret- 
icence of  that  necessary  concomitant  of 
Continental  hotel  life. 

Suddenly  I  noticed  a  more  eager  ex- 
pression on  his  face.  One  ear  was 
unfurled,  like  a  flag,  and  almost  run  to 
the  masthead ;  the  head  was  turned 
quickly  down  the  road.  A  sound  of 
wheels  was  heard  below  the  shop.  His 
dogship  straightened  himself  and  stood 
on  four  legs,  his  tail  wagging  slowly. 

Another  dog  was  coming. 

A  great  Danish  hound,  with  white 
eyes,  black-and-tan  ears,  and  tail  as  long 
and  smooth  as  a  policeman's  night-club ; 
—  one  of  those  sleek  and  shining  dogs 
with  powerful  chest  and  knotted  legs,  a 
little  bowed  in  front,  black  lips,  and  daz- 
zling, fang-like  teeth.  He  was  spattered 
with  brown  spots,  and  sported  a  single 
white  foot.  Altogether,  he  was  a  dog  of 
quality,  of  ancestry,  of  a  certain  position 
in  his  own  land,  —  one  who  had  clearly 
followed  his  master's  mountain  wagon 
to-day  as  much  for  love  of  adventure 
as  anything  else.  A  dog  of  parts,  too, 
who  could  perhaps,  hunt  the  wild  boar, 
or  give  chase  to  the  agile  deer.  He 


ANOTHER  DOG 

was  certainly  not  an  inn  dog.  He  was 
rather  a  palace  dog,  a  chateau,  or  a 
shooting-box  dog,  who,  in  his  off  mo- 
ments, trotted  behind  hunting  carts 
filled  with  guns,  sportsmen  in  knee- 
breeches,  or  in  front  of  landaus  when 
my  lady  went  an-airing. 

And  with  all  this,  and  quite  naturally, 
he  was  a  dog  of  breeding,  who,  while 
he  insisted  on  his  own  rights,  respected 
those  of  others.  I  saw  this  before  he 
had  spoken  ten  words  to  the  concierge, 
—  the  St.  Bernard  dog,  I  mean.  For  he 
did  talk  to  him,  and  the  conversation 
was  just  as  plain  to  me,  tilted  back 
against  the  wall,  out  of  the  sun,  waiting 
for  my  cutlets  and  coffee,  as  if  I  had 
been  a  dog  myself,  and  understood  each 
word  of  it. 

First,  he  walked  up  sideways,  his  tail 
wagging  and  straight  out,  like  a  patent 
towel-rack.  Then  he  walked  round  the 
concierge,  who  followed  his  movements 
with  becoming  interest,  wagging  his 
own  tail,  straightening  his  forelegs,  and 
sidling  around  him  kindly,  as  befitted  the 
stranger's  rank  and  quality,  but  with  a 
certain  dog-independence  of  manner,  pre- 
serving his  own  dignities  while  cour- 
teously passing  the  time  of  day,  and 
intimating,  by  certain  twists  of  his  tail, 
that  he  felt  quite  sure  his  excellency 
152 


ANOTHER  DOG 

would  like  the  air  and  scenery  the 
farther  he  got  up  the  pass,  —  all  strange 
dogs  did. 

During  this  interchange  of  canine 
civilities,  the  landlord  was  helping  out 
the  two  men,  the  companions  of  the 
dog.  One  was  round  and  pudgy,  the 
other  lank  and  scrawny.  Both  were  in 
knickerbockers,  with  green  hats  deco- 
rated with  cock  feathers  and  edelweiss. 
The  blue-shirted  porter  carried  in  the 
bags  and  alpenstocks,  closing  the  coffee- 
room  door  behind  them. 

Suddenly  the  strange  dog,  who  had 
been  beguiled  by  the  courteous  manner 
of  the  concierge,  realized  that  his  mas- 
ter had  disappeared.  The  man  had 
been  hungry,  no  doubt,  and  half  blinded 
by  the  glare  of  the  sun.  After  the  man- 
ner of  his  kind,  he  had  dived  into  this 
shelter  without  a  word  to  the  dumb 
beast  who  had  tramped  behind  his 
wheels,  swallowing  the  dust  his  horses 
kicked  up. 

When  the  strange  dog  realized  this, 
—  I  saw  the  instant  the  idea  entered  his 
mind,  as  I  caught  the  sudden  toss  of  the 
head,  —  he  glanced  quickly  about  with 
that  uneasy,  anxious  look  that  comes 
into  the  face  of  a  dog  when  he  discovers 
that  he  is  adrift  in  a  strange  place  with- 
out his  master.  What  other  face  is  so 


ANOTHER  DOG 

utterly  miserable,  and  what  eyes  so 
pleading,  the  tears  just  under  the  lids, 
as  the  lost  dog's  ? 

Then  it  was  beautiful  to  see  the  St. 
Bernard.  With  a  sudden  twist  of  the 
head  he  reassured  the  strange  dog,  — 
telling  him,  as  plainly  as  could  be,  not 
to  worry,  the  gentlemen  were  only  in- 
side, and  would  be  out  after  breakfast. 
There  was  no  mistaking  what  he  said. 
It  was  done  with  a  peculiar  curving  of 
the  neck,  a  reassuring  wag  of  the  tail, 
a  glance  toward  the  coffee-room,  and  a 
few  frolicsome,  kittenish  jumps,  these 
last  plainly  indicating  that  as  for  himself 
the  occasion  was  one  of  great  hilarity, 
with  absolutely  no  cause  in  it  for  anxi- 
ety. Then,  if  you  could  have  seen  that 
anxious  look  fade  away  from  the  face  of 
the  strange  dog,  the  responsive,  recipro- 
cal wag  of  the  night-club  of  a  tail.  If 
you  could  have  caught  the  sudden  peace 
that  came  into  his  eyes,  and  have  seen 
him  as  he  followed  the  concierge  to  the 
doorway,  dropping  his  ears,  and  throw- 
ing himself  beside  him,  looking  up  into 
his  face,  his  tongue  out,  panting  after 
the  habit  of  his  race,  the  white  saliva 
dropping  upon  his  paws. 

Then  followed  a  long  talk,  conducted 
in  side  glances,  and  punctuated  with 
the  quiet  laughs  of  more  slappings  of 


ANOTHER  DOG 

tails  on  the  cobbles,  as  the  concierge 
listened  to  the  adventures  of  the 
stranger,  or  matched  them  with  funny 
experiences  of  his  own. 

Here  a  whistle  from  the  coffee-room 
window  startled  them.  Even  so  rude  a 
being  as  a  man  is  sometimes  mindful  of 
his  dog.  In  an  instant  both  concierge 
and  stranger  were  on  their  feet,  the  con- 
cierge ready  for  whatever  would  turn 
up,  the  stranger  trying  to  locate  the 
sound  and  his  master.  Another  whistle, 
and  he  was  off,  bounding  down  the  road, 
looking  wistfully  at  the  windows,  and 
rushing  back  bewildered.  Suddenly  it 
came  to  him  that  the  short  cut  to  his 
master  lay  through  the  archway. 

Just  here  there  was  a  change  in  the 
manner  of  the  concierge.  It  was  not 
gruff,  nor  savage,  nor  severe,  —  it  was 
only  firm  and  decided.  With  his  tail 
still  wagging,  showing  his  kindness  and 
willingness  to  oblige,  but  with  spine 
rigid  and  hair  bristling,  he  explained 
clearly  and  succinctly  to  that  strange 
dog  how  absolutely  impossible  it  would 
be  for  him  to  permit  his  crossing  the 
archway.  Up  went  the  spine  of  the 
stranger,  and  out  went  his  tail  like  a  bar 
of  steel,  the  feet  braced,  and  the  whole 
body  taut  as  standing  rigging.  But  the 
concierge  kept  on  wagging  his  tail, 


ANOTHER  DOG 

though  his  hair  still  bristled,  —  saying  as 
plainly  as  he  could  :  — 

"  My  dear  sir,  do  not  blame  me.  I 
assure  you  that  nothing  in  the  world 
would  give  me  more  pleasure  than  to 
throw  the  whole  house  open  to  you; 
but  consider  for  a  moment.  My  master 
puts  me  here  to  see  that  nobody  enters 
the  inn  but  those  whom  he  wishes  to  see, 
and  that  all  other  live-stock,  especially 
dogs,  shall  on  no  account  be  admitted." 
(This  with  head  bent  on  one  side  and 
neck  arched.)  "Now,  while  I  have  the 
most  distinguished  consideration  for 
your  dogship"  (tail  wagging  violently), 
"  and  would  gladly  oblige  you,  you  must 
see  that  my  honor  is  at  stake  "  (spine 
more  rigid),  "and  I  feel  assured  that 
under  the  circumstances  you  will  not 
press  a  request  (low  growl)  which  you 
must  know  would  be  impossible  for  me 
to  grant." 

And  the  strange  dog,  gentleman  as 
he  was,  expressed  himself  as  entirely 
satisfied  with  the  very  free  and  generous 
explanation.  With  tail  wagging  more 
violently  than  ever,  he  assured  the  con- 
cierge that  he  understood  his  position 
exactly.  Then  wheeling  suddenly,  he 
bounded  down  the  road.  Though  con- 
vinced, he  was  still  anxious. 

Then  the  concierge  gravely  settled 
156 


ANOTHER  DOG 

himself  once  more  on  his  haunches  in 
his  customary  place,  his  eyes  command- 
ing the  view  up  and  down  and  across  the 
road,  where  I  sat  still  tilted  back  in  my 
chair  waiting  for  my  cutlets,  his  whole 
body  at  rest,  his  face  expressive  of  that 
quiet  content  which  comes  from  a  sense 
of  duties  performed  and  honor  untar- 
nished. 

But  the  stranger  had  duties,  too ;  he 
must  answer  the  whistle,  and  find  his 
master.  His  search  down  the  road  being 
fruitless,  he  rushed  back  to  the  con- 
cierge, looking  up  into  his  face,  his  eyes 
restless  and  anxious. 

"  If  it  were  inconsistent  with  his 
honor  to  permit  him  to  cross  the  thresh- 
old, was  there  any  other  way  he  could 
get  into  the  coffee-room?"  This  last 
with  a  low  whine  of  uneasiness,  and  a 
toss  of  head. 

"  Yes,  certainly, "  jumping  to  his  feet, 
"  why  had  he  not  mentioned  it  before  ? 
It  would  give  him  very  great  pleasure  to 
show  him  the  way  to  the  side  entrance." 
And  the  St.  Bernard,  everything  wagging 
now,  walked  with  the  stranger  to  the  cor- 
ner, stopping  stock  still  to  point  with  his 
nose  to  the  closed  door. 

Then  the  stranger  bounded  down  with 
a  scurry  and  plunge,  nervously  edging 
up  to  the  door,  wagging  his  tail,  and 


ANOTHER  DOG 

with  a  low,  anxious  whine  springing  one 
side  and  another,  his  paws  now  on  the 
sill,  his  nose  at  the  crack,  until  the  door 
was  finally  opened,  and  he  dashed  in- 
side. 

What  happened  in  the  coffee-room  I 
do  not  know,  for  I  could  not  see.  I  am 
willing,  however,  to  wager  that  a  dog  of 
his  loyalty,  dignity,  and  sense  of  duty 
did  just  what  a  dog  of  quality  would  do. 
No  awkward  springing  at  his  master's 
chest  with  his  dusty  paws  leaving  marks 
on  his  vest  front ;  no  rushing  around 
chairs  and  tables  in  mad  joy  at  being  let 
in,  alarming  waitresses  and  children. 
Only  a  low  whine  and  gurgle  of  delight, 
a  rubbing  of  his  cold  nose  against  his 
master's  hand,  a  low,  earnest  look  up 
into  his  face,  so  frank,  so  trustful,  a  look 
that  carried  no  reproach  for  being  shut 
out,  and  only  gratitude  for  being  let  in. 

A  moment  more,  and  he  was  outside 
again,  head  in  air,  looking  for  his  friend. 
Then  a  dash,  and  he  was  around  by  the 
archway,  licking  the  concierge  in  the 
face,  biting  his  neck,  rubbing  his  nose 
under  his  forelegs,  saying  over  and  over 
again  how  deeply  he  thanked  him, — 
how  glad  and  proud  he  was  of  his  ac- 
quaintance, and  how  delighted  he  would 
be  if  he  came  down  to  Vienna,  or  Milan, 
or  wherever  he  did  come  from,  so  that  he 
158 


ANOTHER  DOG 

might  return  his  courtesies  in  some  way, 
and  make  his  stay  pleasant. 

Just  here  the  landlord  called  out  that 
the  cutlets  and  coffee  were  ready,  and, 
man-like,  I  went  in  to  breakfast. 
159 


BROCKWAY'S   HULK 

I  FIRST  saw  Brockway's  towards  the 
close  of  a  cold  October  day.  Since 
early  morning  I  had  been  tramping  and 
sketching  about  the  northern  suburbs 
of  New  York,  and  it  was  late  in  the 
afternoon  when  I  reached  the  edge  of 
that  high  ground  overlooking  the  two 
rivers.  I  could  see  through  an  opening 
in  the  woods  the  outline  of  the  great 
aqueduct,  —  a  huge  stone  centipede  step- 
ping across  on  its  sturdy  legs ;  the  broad 
Hudson,  with  its  sheer  walls  of  rock, 
and  the  busy  Harlem  crowded  with 
boats  and  braced  with  bridges.  A  raw 
wind  was  blowing,  and  a  gray  mist 
blurred  the  edges  of  the  Palisades  where 
they  cut  against  the  sky. 

As  the  darkness  fell  the  wind  in- 
creased, and  scattered  drops  of  rain,  pi- 
loting the  coming  storm,  warned  me  to 
seek  a  shelter.  Shouldering  my  trap 
and  hurrying  forward,  I  descended  the 
hill,  followed  the  road  to  the  East  River, 
and,  finding  no  boat,  walked  along  the 
shore  hoping  to  hail  a  fisherman  or  some 
160 


BROCKWAY'S   HULK 

belated  oarsman,  and  reach  the  station 
opposite. 

My  search  led  me  around  a  secluded 
cove  edged  with  white  sand  and  yellow 
marsh  grass,  ending  in  a  low,  jutting 
point.  Here  I  came  upon  a  curious  sort 
of  dwelling,  —  half  house,  half  boat. 
It  might  have  passed  for  an  abandoned 
barge,  or  wharf  boat,  too  rotten  to  float 
and  too  worthless  to  break  up,  —  the 
relic  and  record  of  some  by-gone  tide  of 
phenomenal  height.  When  I  approached 
nearer  it  proved  to  be  an  old-fashioned 
canal -boat,  sunk  to  the  water  line  in 
the  grass,  its  deck  covered  by  a  low- 
hipped  roof.  Midway  its  length  was 
cut  a  small  door,  opening  upon  a  short 
staging  or  portico  which  supported  one 
end  of  a  narrow,  rambling  bridge  lead- 
ing to  the  shore.  This  bridge  was  built 
of  driftwood  propped  up  on  shad  poles. 
Over  the  door  itself  flapped  a  scrap  of  a 
tattered  sail  which  served  as  an  awning. 
Some  pots  of  belated  flowers  bloomed 
on  the  sills  of  the  ill-shaped  windows, 
and  a  wind-beaten  vine,  rooted  in  a  fish 
basket,  crowded  into  the  door,  as  if  to 
escape  the  coming  winter.  Nothing 
could  have  been  more  dilapidated  or 
more  picturesque. 

The  only  outward  sign  of  life  about 
the  dwelling  was  a  curl  of  blue  smoke. 
161 


BROCKWAY'S   HULK 

Without  this  signal  of  good  cheer  it  had 
a  menacing  look,  as  it  lay  in  its  bed  of 
mud  glaring  at  me  from  under  its  eaves 
of  eyebrows,  shading  eyes  of  windows 
a-glint  in  the  fading  light. 

I  crossed  the  small  beach  strewn  with 
oyster  shells,  ascended  the  tottering 
bridge,  and  knocked.  The  door  was 
opened  by  a  gray-bearded  old  man  in  a 
rough  jacket.  He  was  bare-footed,  his 
trousers  rolled  up  above  his  ankles,  like 
a  boy's. 

"  Can  you  help  me  across  the  river  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  Yes,  perhaps  I  can.  Come  into  the 
Hulk,"  he  replied,  holding  the  door 
against  the  gusts  of  wind. 

The  room  was  small  and  low,  with 
doors  leading  into  two  others.  In  its 
centre,  before  a  square  stove,  stood  a 
young  child  cooking  the  evening  meal. 
I  saw  no  other  inmates. 

"  You  are  wet,"  said  the  old  man,  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  my  shoulder,  feeling  me 
over  carefully ;  "  come  nearer  the  stove." 

The  child  brought  a  chair.  As  I 
dropped  into  it  I  caught  his  eye  fixed 
upon  me  intently. 

"What  are  you?"  he   said  abruptly, 
noting  my  glance,  —  "a  peddler."     He 
said  this  standing  over  me,  —  his  arms 
akimbo,  his  bare  feet  spread  apart. 
162 


BROCKWAY'S  HULK 

"  No,  a  painter,"  I  answered  smiling ; 
my  trap  had  evidently  misled  him. 

He  mused  a  little,  rubbing  his  beard 
with  his  thumb  and  forefinger;  then, 
making  a  mental  inventory  of  my  exte- 
rior, beginning  with  my  slouch  hat  and 
taking  in  each  article  down  to  my  tramp- 
ing shoes,  he  said  slowly,  — 

"  And  poor  ? " 

"  Yes,  we  all  are."  And  I  laughed ; 
his  manner  made  me  a  little  uncomfort- 
able. 

My  reply,  however,  seemed  to  reassure 
him.  His  features  relaxed  and  a  more 
kindly  expression  overspread  his  counte- 
nance. 

"And  now,  what  are  you?"  I  asked, 
offering  him  a  cigarette  as  I  spoke. 

"Me?  Nothing,"  he  replied  curtly, 
refusing  it  with  a  wave  of  his  hand. 
"Only  Brockway, — just  Brockway, — 
that's  all,  —  just  Brockway."  He  kept 
repeating  this  in  an  abstracted  way,  as 
if  the  remark  was  addressed  to  himself, 
the  words  dying  in  his  throat. 

Then  he  moved  to  the  door,  took 
down  an  oilskin  from  a  peg,  and  saying 
that  he  would  get  the  boat  ready,  went 
out  into  the  night,  shutting  the  door 
behind  him,  his  bare  feet  flapping  like 
wet  fish  as  he  walked. 

I  was  not  sorry  I  was  going  away  so 
163 


BROCKWAY'S   HULK 

soon.  The  man  and  the  place  seemed 
uncanny. 

I  roused  myself  and  crossed  the  room, 
attracted  by  the  contents  of  a  cupboard 
filled  with  cheap  pottery  and  some  bits 
of  fine  old  English  lustre.  Then  I  ex- 
amined the  furniture  of  the  curious  in- 
terior, —  the  high-backed  chairs,  mahog- 
any table,  —  one  leg  replaced  with  pine, 
—  the  hair  sofa  and  tall  clock  in  the 
corner  by  the  door.  They  were  all  old 
and  once  costly,  and  all  of  a  pattern  of 
by-gone  days.  Everything  was  scrupu- 
lously clean,  even  to  the  strip  of  un- 
bleached muslin  hung  at  the  small 
windows. 

The  door  blew  in  with  a  whirl  of  wind, 
and  Brockway  entered  shaking  the  wet 
from  his  sou'wester. 

"You  must  wait,"  he  said.  "Dan 
the  brakeman  has  taken  my  boat  to  the 
Railroad  Dock.  He  will  return  in  an 
hour.  If  you  are  hungry,  you  can  sup 
with  us.  Emily,  set  a  place  for  the 
painter." 

His  manner  was  more  frank.  He 
seemed  less  uncanny  too.  Perhaps  he 
had  been  in  some  special  ill  humor 
when  I  entered.  Perhaps,  too,  he  had 
been  suspicious  of  me;  I  had  not 
thought  of  that  before. 

The  child  spread  the  cloth  and  busied 
164 


BROCKWAY'S  HULK 

herself  with  the  dishes  and  plates.  She 
was  about  twelve  years  old,  slightly 
built  and  neatly  dressed.  Her  eyes 
were  singularly  large  and  expressive. 
The  light  brown  hair  about  her  shoul- 
ders held  a  tinge  of  gold  when  the 
lamplight  shone  upon  it. 

Despite  the  evident  poverty  of  the  in- 
terior, a  certain  air  of  refinement  per- 
vaded everything.  Even  the  old  man's 
bare  feet  did  not  detract  from  it.  These, 
by  the  way,  he  never  referred  to ;  it 
was  evidently  a  habit  with  him.  I  felt 
this  refinement  not  only  in  the  relics  of 
what  seemed  to  denote  better  days,  but 
in  the  arrangement  of  the  table,  the 
placing  of  the  tea  tray  and  the  providing 
of  a  separate  pot  for  the  hot  water. 
Their  voices,  too,  were  low,  characteris- 
tic of  people  who  live  alone  and  in  peace, 
—  especially  the  old  man's. 

Brockway  resumed  his  seat  and  con- 
tinued talking,  asking  about  the  city  as 
if  it  were  a  thousand  miles  away  in- 
stead of  being  almost  at  his  door;  of 
the  artists,  —  their  mode  of  life,  their 
successes,  etc.  As  he  talked  his  eye 
brightened  and  his  manner  became 
more  gentle.  It  was  only  his  outside 
that  seemed  to  belong  to  an  old  boat- 
man, roughened  by  the  open  air,  with 
hands  hard  and  brown.  Yet  these  were 
165 


BROCKWAY'S   HULK 

well  shaped,  with  tapering  fingers.  One 
bore  a  gold  ring  curiously  marked  and 
worn  to  a  thread. 

I  asked  about  the  fishing,  hoping  the 
subject  would-  lead  him  to  talk  of  his 
own  life,  and  so  solve  the  doubt  in  my 
mind  as  to  his  class  and  antecedents. 
His  replies  showed  his  thorough  know- 
ledge of  his  trade.  He  deplored  the 
scarcity  of  bass,  now  that  the  steam- 
boats and  factories  fouled  the  river ;  the 
decrease  of  the  oysters,  of  which  he  had 
several  beds,  all  being  injured  by  the 
same  cause.  Then  he  broke  out  against 
the  encroachments  of  the  real  estate 
pirates,  as  he  called  them,  staking  out 
lots  behind  the  Hulk  and  destroying  his 
privacy. 

"  But  you  own  the  marsh  ? "  I  asked 
carelessly.  I  saw  instantly  in  his  face 
the  change  working  in  his  mind.  He 
looked  at  me  searchingly,  almost 
fiercely,  and  said,  weighing  each  word,  — 

"  Not  one  foot,  young  man,  —  do  you 
hear  ?  —  not  one  foot  !  Own  nothing 
but  what  you  see.  But  this  hulk  is 
mine,  —  mine  from  the  mud  to  the 
ridgepole,  with  every  rotten  timber  in 
it." 

The  outburst  was  so  sudden  that  I 
rose  from  my  chair.  For  a  moment  he 
seemed  consumed  with  an  inward  rage, 
166 


BROCKWAY'S  HULK 

—  not  directed  to  me  in  any  way, — 
more  as  if  the  memory  of  some  past 
wrong  had  angered  him. 

Here  the  child,  with  an  anxious  face, 
rose  quickly  from  her  seat  by  the  win- 
dow, and  laid  her  hand  on  his. 

The  old  man  looked  into  her  face  for 
a  moment,  and  then,  as  if  her  touch  had 
softened  him,  rose  courteously,  took  her 
arm,  seated  her  at  the  table  and  then 
me.  In  a  moment  more  he  had  re- 
gained his  gentle  manner. 

The  meal  was  a  frugal  one,  broiled 
fish  and  potatoes,  a  loaf  of  bread,  and 
stewed  apples  served  in  a  cut  glass  dish 
with  broken  handles. 

The  meal  over,  the  girl  replaced  the 
cotton  cloth  with  a  red  one,  retrimmed 
the  lamps,  and  disappeared  into  an  ad- 
joining room,  carrying  the  dishes.  The 
old  man  lighted  his  pipe  and  seated 
himself  in  a  large  chair,  smoking  on  in 
silence.  I  opened  my  portfolio  and 
began  retouching  the  sketches  of  the 
morning. 

Outside  the  weather  grew  more  bois- 
terous. The  wind  increased  ;  the  rain 
thrashed  against  the  small  windows,  the 
leakage  dropping  on  the  floor  like  the 
slow  ticking  of  a  clock. 

As  the  evening  wore  on  I  began  to 
be  uneasy,  speculating  as  to  the  possi- 
167 


BROCKWAY'S   HULK 

bility  of  my  reaching  home  that  night. 
To  be  entirely  frank,  I  did  not  altogether 
like  my  surroundings  or  my  host.  One 
moment  he  was  like  a  child ;  the  next 
there  came  into  his  face  an  expression 
of  uncontrollable  hate  that  sent  a  shiver 
through  me.  But  for  the  clear,  steady 
gaze  of  his  eye  I  should  have  doubted 
his  sanity. 

There  was  no  sign  of  the  return  of 
the  boat.  The  old  man  became  restless 
himself.  He  said  nothing,  but  every 
now  and  then  he  would  peer  through  the 
window  and  raise  his  hand  to  his  ear  as 
if  listening.  It  was  evident  that  he  did 
not  want  me  over  night  if  he  could  help 
it.  This  partly  reassured  me. 

Finally,  he  laid  down  his  pipe,  put  on 
his  oilskin  again,  lighted  a  lantern,  and 
pulled  the  door  behind  him,  the  wind 
struggling  to  force  an  entrance. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  returned  with  lan- 
tern out,  the  rain  glistening  on  his  white, 
bushy  beard.  Without  a  word,  he  hung 
up  his  dripping  garments,  placed  the 
lantern  on  the  floor,  and  called  the  child 
into  the  adjoining  room.  When  he  came 
back,  he  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder 
and  said,  with  a  tone  in  his  voice  that 
was  unmistakable  in  its  sincerity :  — 

"  I  am  sorry,  friend,  but  the  boat  can- 
not get  back  to-night.  You  seem  like 
168 


BROCKWAY'S   HULK 

a  decent  man,  and  I  believe  you  are.  I 
knew  some  of  your  kind  once,  and  I 
always  liked  them.  You  must  stay 
where  you  are  to-night,  and  have  Em- 
ily's room." 

I  thanked  him,  but  hoped  the  weather 
would  clear.  As  to  taking  Emily's  room, 
this  I  could  not  do.  I  would  not,  of 
course,  disturb  the  child.  If  there  was 
no  chance  of  my  getting  away,  I  said,  I 
preferred  taking  the  floor,  with  my  trap 
for  a  pillow.  But  he  would  not  hear  of 
it.  He  was  not  accustomed,  he  said,  to 
have  people  stay  with  him,  especially  of 
late  years ;  but  when  they  did,  they  could 
not  sleep  on  the  floor. 

The  child's  room  proved  to  be  the  old 
cabin  of  the  canal-boat,  with  the  three 
steps  leading  down  from  the  decks.  The 
little  slanting  windows  were  still  there, 
and  so  were  the  bunks,  —  or,  rather,  the 
lower  one.  The  upper  one  had  been  al- 
tered into  a  sort  of  closet.  On  one  side 
hung  a  row  of  shelves  on  which  were 
such  small  knickknacks  as  a  child  al- 
ways loves,  —  a  Christmas  card  or  two, 
some  books,  a  pin-cushion  backed  with 
shells,  a  doll's  bonnet,  besides  some 
trinkets  and  strings  of  beads.  Next  to 
this  ran  a  row  of  hooks  covered  by  a  cur- 
tain of  cheap  calico,  half  concealing  her 
few  simple  dresses,  with  her  muddy  little 
169 


BROCKWAY'S   HULK 

shoes  and  frayed  straw  hat  in  the  farther 
corner. 

Above  the  head-board  hung  the  like- 
ness of  a  woman  with  large  eyes,  her 
hair  pushed  back  from  a  wide,  high  fore- 
head. It  was  framed  in  an  old-fashioned 
black  frame  with  a  gold  mat.  Not  a  beau- 
tiful face,  but  so  interesting  and  so  ex- 
pressive that  I  looked  at  it  half  a  dozen 
times  before  I  could  return  it  to  its  place. 

Everything  was  as  clean  and  fresh  as 
care  could  make  it.  When  I  dropped  to 
sleep,  the  tide  was  swashing  the  floor 
beneath  me,  the  rain  still  sousing  and 
drenching  the  little  windows  and  the 
roof. 

The  following  week,  one  crisp,  fresh 
morning,  I  was  again  at  the  Hulk.  My 
experience  the  night  of  the  storm  had 
given  me  more  confidence  in  Brockway, 
although  the  mystery  of  his  life  was  still 
impenetrable.  As  I  rounded  the  point, 
the  old  man  and  little  Emily  were  just 
pushing  off  in  the  boat.  He  was  on  his 
way  to  his  oyster  beds  a  short  distance 
off,  his  grappling-tongs  and  basket  beside 
him.  In  his  quick,  almost  gruff  way,  he 
welcomed  me  heartily  and  insisted  on  my 
staying  to  dinner.  He  would  be  back  in 
an  hour  with  a  mess  of  oysters  to  help 
out.  "  Somebody  has  been  raking  my 
170 


BROCKWAY'S   HULK 

beds  and  I  must  look  after  them,"  he 
called  to  me  as  he  rowed  away. 

I  drew  my  own  boat  well  up  on  the 
gravel,  out  of  reach  of  the  making  tide, 
and  put  my  easel  close  to  the  water's 
edge.  I  wanted  to  paint  the  Hulk  and 
the  river  with  the  bluffs  beyond.  Before 
I  had  blocked  in  my  sky,  I  caught  sight 
of  Brockway  rowing  hurriedly  back,  fol- 
lowed by  a  shell  holding  half  a  dozen  oars- 
men from  one  of  the  boating  clubs  down 
the  river.  The  crew  were  out  for  a  spin 
in  their  striped  shirts  and  caps ;  the  cox- 
swain was  calling  to  him,  but  he  made 
no  reply. 

"  Say,  Mr.  Brockway  !  will  you  please 
fill  our  water-keg  ?  We  have  come  off 
from  the  boat-house  without  a  drop,"  I 
heard  one  call  out. 

"  No  ;  not  to  save  your  lives,  I  would 
n't !  "  he  shouted  back,  his  boat  striking 
the  beach.  Springing  out  and  catching 
Emily  by  the  shoulder,  pushing  her  be- 
fore him,  — "Go  into  the  Hulk,  child." 
Then,  lowering  his  voice  to  me,  "  They 
are  all  alike,  d —  them,  all  alike.  Just 
such  a  gang !  I  know  'em,  I  know  'em. 
Get  you  a  drink  ?  I  '11  see  you  dead  first, 
d —  you.  See  you  dead  first  ;  do  you 
hear?" 

His  face  was  livid,  his  eyes  blazing 
with  anger.  The  crew  turned  and  shot 
171 


BROCKWAY'S   HULK 

up  the  river,  grumbling  as  they  went. 
Brockway  unloaded  his  boat,  clutching 
the  tongs  as  if  they  were  weapons  ;  then, 
tying  the  painter  to  a  stake,  sat  down 
and  watched  me  at  work.  Soon  Emily 
crept  back  and  slipped  one  hand  around 
her  grandfather's  neck. 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  ever  do  that, 
little  Frowsy-head  ? "  he  said,  pointing  to 
my  sketch.  I  looked  up.  His  face  was 
as  serene  and  sunny  as  that  of  the  child 
beside  him. 

Gradually  I  came  to  know  these  peo- 
ple better.  I  never  could  tell  why,  our 
tastes  being  so  dissimilar.  I  fancied, 
sometimes,  from  a  remark  the  old  man 
once  made,  that  he  had  perhaps  known 
some  one  who  had  been  a  painter,  and 
that  I  reminded  him  of  his  friend,  and  on 
that  account  he  trusted  me  ;  for  I  often 
detected  him  examining  my  brushes, 
spreading  the  bristles  on  his  palm,  or 
holding  them  to  the  light  with  a  critical 
air.  I  could  see,  too,  that  their  touch 
was  not  new  to  him. 

As  for  me,  the  picturesqueness  of  the 
Hulk,  the  simple  mode  of  life  of  the  in- 
mates, their  innate  refinement,  the  un- 
selfish devotion  of  little  Emily  to  the  old 
man,  the  conflicting  elements  in  his  char- 
acter, his  fierceness  —  almost  brutality 
—  at  times,  his  extreme  gentleness  at 
172 


BROCKWAY'S   HULK 

others,  his  rough  treatment  of  every 
stranger  who  attempted  to  land  on  his 
shore,  his  tenderness  over  the  child,  all 
combined  to  pique  my  curiosity  to  know 
something  of  his  earlier  life. 

Moreover,  I  constantly  saw  new  beau- 
ties in  the  old  Hulk.  It  always  seemed 
to  adapt  itself  to  the  changing  moods  of 
the  weather,  —  being  grave  or  gay  as 
the  skies  lowered  or  smiled.  In  the  dull 
November  days,  when  the  clouds  drifted 
in  straight  lines  of  slaty  gray,  it  as- 
sumed a  weird,  forbidding  look.  When 
the  wind  blew  a  gale  from  the  northeast, 
and  the  back  water  of  the  river  over- 
flowed the  marsh,  —  submerging  the 
withered  grass  and  breaking  high  upon 
the  foot-bridge,  —  it  seemed  for  all  the 
world  like  the  original  tenement  of  old 
Noah  himself,  derelict  ever  since  his 
disembarkation,  and  stranded  here  after 
centuries  of  bufferings.  On  other  days 
it  had  a  sullen  air,  settling  back  in  its 
bed  of  mud  as  if  tired  out  with  all  these 
miseries,  glaring  at  you  with  its  one 
eye  of  a  window  aflame  with  the  setting 
sun. 

As  the  autumn  lost  itself  in  the  win- 
ter, I  continued  my  excursions  to  the 
Hulk,  sketching  in  the  neighborhood, 
gathering  nuts  with  little  Emily,  or  help- 
ing the  old  man  with  his  nets. 
i73 


BROCKWAY'S  HULK 

On  one  of  these  days  a  woman,  plainly 
but  neatly  dressed,  met  me  at  the  edge 
of  the  wood,  inquired  if  I  had  seen  a 
child  pass  my  way,  and  quickly  disap- 
peared in  the  bushes.  I  noticed  her 
anxious  face  and  the  pathos  of  her  eyes 
when  I  answered.  Then  the  incident 
passed  out  of  my  mind.  A  few  days 
later  I  saw  her  again,  sitting  on  a  pile  of 
stones  as  if  waiting  for  some  one.  Lit- 
tle Emily  had  seen  her  too,  and  stopped 
to  talk  to  her.  I  could  follow  their 
movements  over  my  easel.  As  soon  as 
the  child  caught  my  eye  she  started  up 
and  ran  towards  the^  Hulk,  the  woman 
darting  again  into  the*  bushes.  When  I 
questioned  Emily  about  it  she  hesitated, 
and  said  it  was  a  poor  woman  who  had 
lost  her  little  girl  and  who  was  very  sad. 

Brockway  himself  became  more  and 
more  a  mystery.  I  sought  every  oppor- 
tunity to  coax  from  him  something  of 
his  earlier  life,  but  he  never  referred  to 
it  but  once,  and  then  in  a  way  that  left 
the  subject  more  impenetrable  than 
ever. 

I  was  speaking  of  a  recent  trip  abroad, 
when  he  turned  abruptly  and  said  :  — 

"  Is  the  Milo  still  in  that  little  room 
in  the  Louvre  ? " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  surprised. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that.     Against  that  red 


BROCKWAY'S  HULK 

curtain  she  is  the  most  beautiful  thing  I 
know." 

"  When  did  you  see  the  Venus  ? "  I 
asked,  as  quietly  as  my  astonishment 
would  allow. 

"Oh,  some  years  ago,  when  I  was 
abroad." 

He  was  bending  over  and  putting 
some  new  teeth  in  his  oyster  tongs  at 
the  time,  riveting  them  on  a  flat-iron 
with  a  small  hammer. 

I  agreed  with  him  and  asked  carelessly 
what  year  that  was  and  what  he  was  do- 
ing in  Paris,  but  he  affected  not  to  hear 
me  and  went  on  with  his  hammering, 
remarking  that  the  oysters  were  running 
so  small  that  some  slipped  through  his 
tongs  and  he  was  getting  too  old  to  rake 
for  them  twice.  It  was  only  a  glimpse 
of  some  part  of  his  past,  but  it  was  all 
I  could  get.  He  never  referred  to  it 
again. 

December  of  that  year  was  unusually 
severe.  The  snow  fell  early  and  the  river 
was  closed  before  Christmas.  This  shut 
off  all  communication  with  the  Brock- 
ways  except  by  the  roundabout  way  I 
had  first  followed,  over  the  hills  from  the 
west.  So  my  weekly  tramps  ceased. 

Late  in  the  following  February  I  heard, 
through  Dan  the  brakeman,  that  the  old 
man  was  greatly  broken  and  had  not  been 


BROCKWAY'S   HULK 

out  of  the  Hulk  for  weeks.  I  started  at 
once  to  see  him.  The  ice  was  adrift  and 
running  with  the  tide,  and  the  passage 
across  was  made  doubly  difficult  by  the 
floating  cakes  shelved  one  upon  the 
other.  When  I  reached  the  Hulk,  the 
only  sign  of  life  was  the  thin  curl  of 
smoke  from  the  rusty  pipe.  Even  the 
snow  of  the  night  before  lay  unbroken 
on  the  bridge,  showing  that  no  foot  had 
crossed  it  that  morning.  I  knocked,  and 
Emily  opened  the  door. 

"  Oh,  it 's  the  painter,  grandpa  !  We 
thought  it  might  be  the  doctor." 

He  was  sitting  in  an  armchair  by  the 
fire,  wrapped  in  a  blanket.  Holding  out 
his  hand,  he  motioned  to  a  chair  and  said 
feebly :  — 

"  How  did  you  hear  ? " 

"  The  brakeman  told  me." 

"  Yes,  Dan  knows.  He  comes  over 
Sundays." 

He  was  greatly  changed,  —  his  skin 
drawn  and  shrunken, —  his  grizzled 
beard,  once  so  great  a  contrast  to  his 
ruddy  skin,  only  added  to  the  pallor  of 
his  face.  He  had  had  a  slight  "  stroke," 
he  thought.  It  had  passed  off,  but  left 
him  very  weak. 

I  sat  down  and,  to  change  the  current 
of  his  thoughts,  told  him  of  the  river  out- 
side, and  the  shelving  ice,  of  my  life 
176 


BROCKWAY'S   HULK 

since  I  had  seen  him,  and  whatever  I 
thought  would  interest  him.  He  made 
no  reply,  except  in  monosyllables,  his 
head  buried  in  his  hands.  Soon  the 
afternoon  light  faded,  and  I  rose  to  go. 
Then  he  roused  himself,  threw  the  blan- 
ket from  his  shoulders  and  said  in  some- 
thing of  his  old  voice  :  — 

"  Don't  leave  me.  Do  you  hear  ? 
Don't  leave  me !  "  this  was  with  an  au- 
thoritative gesture.  Then,  his  voice  fal- 
tering and  with  almost  a  tender  tone, 
"  Please  help  me  through  this.  My 
strength  is  almost  gone." 

Later,  when  the  night  closed  in,  he 
called  Emily  to  him,  pushed  her  hair 
back  and,  kissing  her  forehead,  said  :  — 

"Now  go  to  bed,  little  Frowsy-head. 
The  painter  will  stay  with  me." 

I  filled  his  pipe,  threw  some  dry  drift- 
wood in  the  stove,  and  drew  my  chair 
nearer.  He  tried  to  smoke  for  a  mo- 
ment, but  laid  his  pipe  down.  For  some 
minutes  he  kept  his  eyes  on  the  crack- 
ling wood  ;  then,  reaching  his  hand  out, 
laid  it  on  my  arm  and  said  slowly  :  — 

"  If  it  were  not  for  the  child,  I  would 
be  glad  that  the  end  was  near." 

"  Has  she  no  one  to  care  for  her  ?  "  I 
asked; 

"  Only  her  mother.  When  I  am  gone, 
she  will  come." 

177 


BROCKWAY'S   HULK 

"  Her  mother  ?  Why,  Brockway  !  I 
did  not  know  Emily's  mother  was  alive. 
Why  not  send  for  her  now,"  I  said,  look- 
ing into  his  shrunken  face.  "  You  need 
a  woman's  care  at  once." 

His  grasp  tightened  on  my  arm  as  he 
half  rose  from  the  chair,  his  eyes  blazing 
as  I  had  seen  them  that  morning  when 
he  cursed  the  boat's  crew. 

"  But  not  that  woman  !  Never,  while 
I  live  ! "  and  he  bent  down  his  eyes  on 
mine.  "  Look  at  me.  Men  sometimes 
cut  you  to  the  quick,  and  now  and  then 
a  woman  can  leave  a  scar  that  never 
heals ;  but  your  own  child,  —  do  you 
hear  ?  —  your  little  girl,  the  only  one  you 
ever  had,  the  one  you  laid  store  by  and 
loved  and  dreamed  dreams  of,  —  she  can 
tear  your  heart  out.  That 's  what  Emily's 
mother  did  for  me.  Oh,  a  fine  gentle- 
man, with  his  yachts,  and  boats,  and 
horses,  —  a  fine  young  aristocrat!  He 
was  a  thief,  I  tell  you,  a  blackguard,  a 
beast,  to  steal  my  girl.  Damn  him ! 
Damn  him  !  Damn  him  !  "  and  he  fell 
back  in  his  chair  exhausted. 

"  Where  is  she  now  ? "  I  asked  cau- 
tiously, trying  to  change  his  thoughts.  I 
was  afraid  of  the  result  if  the  outburst 
continued. 

"  God  knows  !  Somewhere  in  the  city. 
She  comes  here  every  now  and  then,"  in 
178 


BROCKWAY'S   HULK 

a  weaker  voice.  "  Emily  meets  her  and 
they  go  off  together  when  I  am  out  rak- 
ing my  beds.  Not  long  ago  I  met  her 
outside  on  the  foot-bridge ;  she  did  not 
look  up ;  her  hair  is  gray  now,  and  her 
face  is  thin  and  old,  and  so  sad,  —  not  as 
it  once  was.  God  forgive  me,  —  not  as 
it  once  was  ! "  He  leaned  forward,  his 
face  buried  in  his  hands. 

Then  he  staggered  to  his  feet,  took  the 
lamp  from  the  table,  and  brought  me  the 
picture  I  had  seen  in  Emily's  room  the 
night  of  the  storm. 

"  You  can  see  what  she  was  like.  It 
was  taken  the  year  before  his  death  and 
came  with  Emily's  clothes.  She  found  it 
in  her  box." 

I  held  it  to  the  light.  The  large, 
dreamy  eyes  seemed  even  more  pleading 
than  when  I  first  had  seen  the  picture ; 
and  the  smooth  hair  pushed  back  from 
the  high  forehead,  I  now  saw,  marked  all 
the  more  clearly  the  lines  of  anxious  care 
which  were  then  beginning  to  creep  over 
the  sweet  young  face.  It  seemed  to 
speak  to  me  in  an  earnest,  pleading  way, 
as  if  for  help. 

"She  is  your  daughter,  Brockway, 
don't  forget  that." 

He  made  no  reply.     After  a  pause,  I 
went  on,  "  And  a  girl's  heart  is  not  her 
own.    Was  it  all  her  fault  ? " 
179 


BROCKWAY'S   HULK 

He  pushed  his  chair  back  and  stood 
erect,  one  hand  raised  above  the  other, 
clutching  the  blanket  around  his  throat, 
the  end  trailing  on  the  floor.  By  the 
flickering  light  of  the  dying  fire  he  looked 
like  some  gaunt  spectre  towering  above 
me,  the  blackness  of  the  shadows  only 
intensifying  the  whiteness  of  his  face. 

"  Go  on,  go  on.  I  know  what  you 
would  say.  You  would  have  me  wipe 
out  the  past  and  forget.  Forget  the 
home  she  ruined  and  the  dead  mother's 
heart  she  broke.  Forget  the  weary 
months  abroad,  the  tramping  of  Lon- 
don's streets  looking  into  every  woman's 
face,  afraid  it  was  she.  Forget  these 
years  of  exile  and  poverty,  living  here  in 
this  hulk  like  a  dog,  my  very  name  un- 
known. When  I  am  dead,  they  will  say 
I  have  been  cruel  to  her.  God  knows, 
perhaps  I  have ;  listen  !  "  Then,  glan- 
cing cautiously  towards  Emily's  room 
and  lowering  his  voice,  he  stooped  down, 
his  white  sunken  face  close  to  mine,  his 
eyes  burning,  gazed  long  and  steadily 
into  my  face  as  if  reading  my  very 
thoughts,  and  then,  gathering  himself 
up,  said  slowly  :  "  No,  no.  I  will  not. 
Let  it  all  be  buried  with  me.  I  cannot, 
—  cannot !  "  and  sank  into  his  chair. 

After  a  while  he  raised  his  head, 
picked  up  the  portrait  from  the  table 
1 80 


BROCKWAY'S   HULK 

and  looked  into  its  eyes  eagerly,  holding 
it  in  both  hands ;  and  muttering  to  him- 
self, crossed  the  room,  and  threw  himself 
on  his  bed.  I  stirred  the  fire,  wrapped 
my  coat  about  me  and  fell  asleep  on  the 
lounge.  Later,  I  awoke  and  crept  into 
his  room.  He  was  lying  on  his  back,  the 
picture  still  clasped  in  his  hands. 

A  week  later,  I  reached  the  landing 
opposite  the  Hulk.  There  I  met  Dan's 
wife.  Dan  himself  had  been  away  for 
several  days.  She  told  me  that  two 
nights  before  she  had  been  roused  by  a 
woman  who  had  come  up  on  the  night 
express  and  wanted  to  be  rowed  over  to 
the  Hulk  at  once.  She  was  in  great  dis- 
tress, and  did  not  mind  the  danger.  Dan 
was  against  taking  her,  the  ice  being 
heavy  and  the  night  dark ;  but  she 
begged  so  hard  he  had  not  the  heart  to 
refuse  her.  She  seemed  to  be  expected, 
for  Emily  was  waiting  with  a  lantern  on 
the  bridge  and  put  her  arms  around  her 
and  led  her  into  the  Hulk. 

Dan  being  away,  I  found  another  boat- 
man, and  we  pushed  out  into  the  river. 
I  stood  up  in  the  boat  and  looked  over 
the  waste  of  ice  and  snow.  Under  the 
leaden  sky  lay  the  lifeless  Hulk.  About 
the  entrance  and  on  the  bridge  were 
black  dots  of  figures,  standing  out  in 
181 


BROCKWAY'S  HULK 

clear  relief  like  crows  on  the  unbroken 
snow. 

As  I  drew  nearer,  the  dots  increased 
in  size  and  fell  into  line,  the  procession 
slowly  creeping  along  the  tottering 
bridge,  crunching  the  snow  under  foot. 
Then  I  made  out  little  Emily  and  a 
neatly-dressed  woman  heavily  veiled. 

When  the  shore  was  reached,  I  joined 
some  fishermen  who  stood  about  on  the 
beach,  uncovering  their  heads  as  the 
coffin  passed.  An  open  wagon  waited 
near  the  propped-up  foot-bridge  of  the 
Hulk,  the  horse  covered  with  a  black 
blanket.  Two  men,  carrying  the  body, 
crouched  down  and  pushed  the  box  into 
the  wagon.  The  blanket  was  then  taken 
from  the  horse  and  wrapped  over  the 
pine  casket. 

The  woman  drew  nearer  and  tenderly 
smoothed  its  folds.  Then  she  turned, 
lifted  her  veil,  and  in  a  low  voice  thanked 
the  few  bystanders  for  their  kindness. 

It  was  the  same  face  I  had  seen  with 
Emily  in  the  woods,  —  the  same  that  lay 
upon  his  heart  the  last  night  I  saw  him 
alive. 

182 


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